One Sentence
by loveadubdub
Summary: All it takes is one sentence. One sentence to put a target on her back. One sentence to ruin her life. One sentence to make her question everything she's ever thought she knew.
1. Chapter 1

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

All it takes is one sentence.

One fairly critical, fairly _rude _sentence, but a sentence nonetheless. "Your voice isn't strong enough to handle something originally sung by Barbra Streisand, so you should probably just stick with something closer to your wheelhouse- like Britney Spears."

Rachel makes comments like that every day of her life. She tries to suppress them, but there is some hidden force that seems to draw words out of her- words she doesn't even mean to say. Of course, she's nearly always right, but that's beside the point. She tried to make a New Year's resolution to stop being so vocally critical, and she made good headway on it, too… Until January 4th when glee had its first rehearsal of the new year. Honestly, it's _not _her fault. She cannot help the fact that she has a pitch perfect voice and an ear to match. Other people might watch their teammates perform and be able to enjoy their performances just because they're fun or entertaining, but Rachel isn't privy to that joy. All she hears are _right _notes and _wrong _notes.

Unfortunately, most of the notes she hears fall into the latter category.

Santana Lopez is _not _a terrible singer. When she is singing something that fits her voice, she can actually sound quite nice. She's never going to be a star, of course, but very few people will be. Of those few people, Rachel knows none (herself excepted, of course). But Santana is not horrible, and she's far from the worst singer in glee. However, she is _not _talented enough to take on anything beyond your typical top 40 pop song. Her voice is not strong enough, nor are her emotions powerful enough. Rachel isn't being _mean _with this assessment, she's simply being _honest._

So naturally, when Mr. Schuester offers her the lead in "Down with Love," Rachel _has _to speak up. And, of course, it does not go over well. Santana glares at her and appears to be doing some sort of voodoo hex with her eyes. Kurt tells her to sit down and stop whining. Mercedes accuses her of being a spotlight hog. Puck rolls his eyes. Quinn and Artie make faces at each other. And Finn looks down at the ground and feigns deafness so that he isn't forced to defend her. She is very used to all of it. She is also used to Mr. Schuester telling her that she's being unfair and rude and that they are a team and that teams work together and share things.

Rachel is pretty certain that the only thing Santana's ever shared in her life is a case of crabs.

(She at least has enough sense to not say _that.)_

After practice, she pretends not to notice the way the rest of her teammates are shooting her a mixture of evil little glares and smirks. She is good at pretending people don't hate her, so she gathers up her things and smiles brightly at Finn as she straightens up and pulls her bag over her shoulder. He isn't as good at pretending as she is, and she can tell that he's uncomfortable with the way people are looking at her and, by proxy, him as well. She knows that he's made himself somehow responsible by association, and she knows that he isn't all that okay with the idea. She tries her best to distract him.

"You sounded really good today," she says brightly, slipping her hand into his as they head out into the hallway toward the parking lot. "I told you that the B was doable with enough warming up."

He isn't really listening to her, and she knows this. He's got his eyes trained on the floor, and she can tell that he's counting the tiles as they head out of the building. He does that when he's trying to distract himself from something- he counts things. It's a habit she noticed about him months ago, but she's pretty sure he doesn't even know he does it.

"You wanna get something to eat?" Finn changes the subject altogether, but he stops counting and looks up just as they reach the glass double doors. He pushes them open with one hand and waits for her to step through before following her. She's still got his hand, but she thinks it's very sweet that he is so chivalrous. He always holds doors open for her and pulls out chairs for her and does all those things that don't even cross most sixteen year old boy's minds.

She tells him that yes, she would love to get something to eat, but she has to be home by eight because her father has insisted on implementing "Family Future Night" every Tuesday. Family Future Night usually consists of one or both of her dads sitting down with her and working on scholarship applications and college essays. She is Ivy League bound whether she likes it or not, and her fathers aren't going to accept anything less.

She hasn't yet figured out the perfect way to tell them that she's thinking more and more about Ohio State these days.

Finn takes her to Panera, which she thinks is his way of apologizing for not standing up for her during glee. She thinks this, of course, because his dinner of preference is more along the lines of a Big Mac rather than a strawberry poppyseed salad. She doesn't care, of course, because she counts any time she can persuade him away from McDonald's as a personal victory.

Finn is weird, though, throughout dinner. And he's weird n a way that's more obvious than his constant complaining about how he just paid nine bucks for a sandwich the size of his thumb. She isn't positive, but she's guessing that since he wasn't in a terrible mood _before _practice, the change occurred while they were at glee. She can't particularly remember anything offhand that would have bothered him, so she goes for the direct approach.

"Everything okay?"

He looks up, and she can tell by his face that no, not everything is okay. He's obviously not going to admit this, though, because he forces a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes and nods. "Yeah, everything's cool."

She doesn't press the issue. They finish their food, and she talks his ear off about registering for the ACT. She's already made them both color-coded study guides (she needs hers far less than he needs his, but she doesn't say this), and he needs to make sure his mom sends in the check by the deadline. He looks sort of sick at the thought, but she assures him everything will be fine. Even if he doesn't particularly enjoy talking about standardized testing, it keeps him distracted enough from whatever's bothering him.

He takes her back to her house, and they spend about five minutes making out in his car before she goes inside. He smiles at her as she closes the car door and lifts his hand to wave right before she lets herself into the house. She hears him pull away and thinks for probably the millionth time how much she really, _really _likes him.

"Took you long enough." Her dad is at the kitchen table working on his laptop when she slips in the backdoor. He looks up and smiles at her, and she knows right away that he's well aware of the fact that she's just spent the last several minutes making out with her boyfriend in the driveway. "Finn didn't want to come inside?"

She forces her own smile and joins him at the table. "He's got a lot of homework."

"Did you eat yet? There's some take-out in the fridge if you're hungry."

She lets him know that she's already eaten, and then she does as expected of her and gets out the latest scholarship application so that they can start going over it. Her other father is at an overnight conference in Toledo, so it's just the two of them tonight. She feels less pressure when she's just up against them separately. When it's two against one, she sometimes feels overwhelmed in a way she doesn't enjoy speaking about. She knows they only want what's best for her, which is why she's dreading the day when she brings up state school as a viable alternative to Brown.

She doesn't bring this plan up to anyone at all actually. She hasn't shared it with anyone, and she isn't exactly eager to begin, either. Something tells her that no one will understand and that everyone she knows (including those who would benefit from her decision) will tell her to go to the best school she can get accepted into. She doesn't want to have that conversation, so she's just keeping quiet for now and appeasing her parents with thoroughly filled out applications.

After an hour or so, she kisses her dad on the cheek and tells him she's going upstairs to study. She rarely actually brings homework home, as she gets most of it done during her study hall and in the afternoon either before glee or while she's waiting for Finn to finish at football practice. She does do a fair amount of studying, though, because her class schedule this semester is packed full and busy, and she isn't going to let herself fall behind in anything.

When her phone buzzes, she assumes it's Finn texting her, but she's surprised to pick up her phone and see Puck's name instead. He wants to know if she's finished her Spanish, and she knows as soon as she types her reply that he'll want to cheat. She is already typing the reply to his second (so far unasked) question when her ringtone blares loudly in her hand.

"I am _not _giving you the answers," she says flatly in lieu of a more traditional greeting.

"Whatever," he says back, and she can practically _hear _his eye roll. "I don't need all of them, I just need some help."

"Help on _what?" _she asks, flipping open her Spanish book to the page of their homework assignment.

"On two through sixteen."

"We only have to _do _one through sixteen!"

"I figured out the first one on my own."

"I'm not helping you cheat," she repeats, falling back onto her pillows and staring up at the ceiling. She has a sudden urge to count the paint markings.

"Look, Rachel," and she can hear that he's done playing. "You're going to help me one way or another- either you just help me now, or I'll steal your paper before class and copy the answers then. Your choice."

"You will _not!" _she says, honestly outraged. "I'll tell Mr. Schuester."

"You think he gives a shit?"

"Uh, yeah? He's a teacher."

"He'll just give you another lecture on the importance of sharing. Is that what you want?"

She would argue if he wasn't so, so right.

"Why do you need _my _help?" It isn't as if she and Puck have are regular study buddies or buddies of any kind really. They tolerate each other because they have to, but that's pretty much where it ends.

He grumbles something and then says, "Because the Mexican who usually does my homework is currently not speaking to me, and you're the only person I know who pays attention in that class."

"Trouble in paradise?" She can't help the smirk that forms on her face.

"Something like that."

"What happened? Did Santana beat you at Halo?"

"Santana doesn't play Halo, dumbass," he says hatefully. "She's just a bitch."

"You don't say…"

"Yeah," he pipes up, and she can tell he's a little more eager about this part. "And you might want to remember that before you go spouting your crazy in her direction. She's out to fucking kick your ass, you know that, right?"

She purses her lips together, determined to show no reaction even though she knows he can't see her anyway. "I am not scared of Santana Lopez."

She hears him laugh, but it's really more like a scoff. She doubts he knows what scoff means, though, so she's assuming it's just a laugh. "You should be scared of Santana," he tells her. "If there's one person in the world you should be scared of, it's her."

She knows deep down that he is potentially telling the truth, but she will not worry herself with that at the moment. Instead, she turns back to the real subject at hand. "I'm not helping you cheat, Noah."

"Maybe you're not aware, but when you're dating someone, you're supposed to do his friends favors. That's like common etiquette and shit."

She can't help herself. "Yes, that worked out so well for Quinn, right?"

"Ha ha _ha," _he says sarcastically. "You're not even like a little bit funny. Oh, and by the way? Maybe in your dreams."

She rolls her eyes. "Good night, Noah," she says pointedly.

"I'm getting your homework tomorrow, Rachel. Count on it."

"No, you're not."

He ignores her completely. "Night, babe. Sweet dreams."

He hangs up then, and she can hear the smug look of total assery that accompanies his last sentence.

That night, she dreams that she's trapped inside a video game and that Neil Diamond comes to rescue her. She wakes up and promptly forgets about the dream.

The next morning, Finn picks her up as usual, and he drives her to school. He's in a better mood, and he starts telling her all about the Browns upcoming game that weekend and how Kurt's dad said he might be able to score some tickets and some other stuff that Rachel effectively tunes out. She doesn't feel particularly bad because she knows he doesn't listen to half the things she says. They don't share many common interests, but they work because they both at least pretend to care. Even if they both know it's all just pretend.

He hangs out at her locker as she puts her things away, and just as she shoves her Spanish book into her locker, he swears and says he _knew _he forgot something. She hands over her homework without really thinking about it, and he promises to give it back to her before second period. He kisses her quickly and then runs off to geography while she gathers her things for English and slowly makes her way down the hallway. No one rushes at her with a slushie or purposely slams her into a row of metal lockers, so at least that's a step up from this time last year. Still, no one rushes up to walk with her to class or share the latest gossip, either. She spots Tina across the hall and gives a little wave, which is quickly returned, but then Tina hurries off in the other direction without so much as another glance. She isn't surprised.

That's exactly how her life goes.

English is exactly the same as it is every day. She listens to Mrs. Miller lecture on _A Separate Peace _and wonders exactly how the majority of her classmates even manage to pass from one grade to the next, as more than half of them have their heads down napping. It's _first period! _She keeps her mouth closed, though, and manages to bring no attention to herself whatsoever. In fact, it isn't until she's halfway to Spanish that she even has a moment of verbal interaction.

"Rach!" She hears her name before she sees Puck running through the crowd after her. He's got some ridiculous smirk on his face, and curiosity totally gets the best of her, so she stops and waits for him to catch up. A couple of people look at him like he's lost his mind, but he either doesn't notice or doesn't care because he ignores them all. "Finn asked me to give this to you," he says, shoving a piece of paper at her once he's caught up.

She glances down and, of course, sees the homework she leant Finn earlier.

The glare she sends him is enough to cause that smirk to turn into a full-blown smile. "Told you," he says, dropping an arm over her shoulder lazily. "You should always trust me to hold up to my promises."

"Yes, you're the most trust-worthy person I've ever met in my life." She looks despairingly at the arm he's got around her, which, of course, just causes him to squeeze her tighter in annoyance.

She normally sits by herself in Spanish, but she isn't surprised at all when he drops into the seat beside her and flashes his teeth in innocence. There is nothing innocent about him, though, and she is more than a little bit worried by the fact that he doesn't even seem remotely fazed by the odd looks he's getting from his friends. He isn't building up to some huge prank or anything because he doesn't do that anymore. That doesn't mean he's being nice, though. He is purposely trying to annoy her, and she knows that the more she reacts, the happier he's going to be and the further he'll push.

So she does nothing.

Mr. Schuester begins the lesson, and just like nearly every day, most of the class zones immediately out. She will admit that Spanish is less than interesting, but she refuses to follow her classmates' examples, and she copies down all of his notes from the board and tries her best to follow along.

"_Rachel."_

She hears her name whispered from beside her, but she keeps her eyes trained straight in front of her, refusing to acknowledge the fact that the boy beside her is repeatedly hissing her name.

"_Rachel. Rachel. Rachel. Raaaachel."_

"_What?" _she finally hisses, turning her head quickly to glare at him.

Puck just grins. "Can I borrow a pen?"

"No," she snaps quietly.

"That's rude."

Trying her best not to throw the first punch of her life, she quickly drops her head down to his bag, which is sitting on the floor between them. Without a word, she reaches into it and pulls out a pen from the three that he has sitting in the front pocket. Then she shoves it at him and turns her attention back to the teacher.

There's something being said about conjugation, but Rachel finds it incredibly difficult to concentrate given the fact that she is being physically assaulted. A pen is tapping into her side annoyingly, and every few minutes, her hair is _literally _being pulled. Finally, she can take it no more, and she turns angrily and very quietly (but very _firmly) _gives a sharp order.

"_Leave me alone!"_

"Rachel?" Oh, damn. Mr. Schuester is staring at her with slightly raised eyebrows and the same sort of look he always has when he's about to make an attempt at ruining her life. "Could you maybe be quiet? People are trying to learn here."

He's a liar. No one in that class is trying to learn anything. This doesn't stop her mouth from dropping open in disgusted shock as she stares at him incredulously.

"Is there a problem?" he asks, slipping into his 'teacher voice.' He rarely uses that voice, and when he does, she can't help but find it incredibly hypocritical.

"Are you _serious?" _she asks, completely floored by the way he really, really does hate her. He just stares at her questioningly, and she throws one hand up in her neighbor's direction and assumes it's all the explanation she needs.

"Puck, leave Rachel alone." He doesn't even _remotely _sounds like he means it.

And Puck, for what it's worth, pulls the most horribly affronted look she's ever seen and does his very best innocence act. "I'm not doing anything to her!"

And that's that.

Mr. Schue gets bored and turns back to the blackboard. The rest of the class goes back to texting and/or sleeping, and she turns to the person beside her with what she hopes is a convincing look to adequately portray the complete and total disdain she's feeling. He raises his eyebrows at her and whispers, "I can't believe you just threw me under the bus."

She glares at him but says nothing.

Finn waits for her before lunch, and she joins him as usual at a table with a few of their (his) friends. He can obviously tell something's wrong because she refuses to show any type of reaction when he tells her that he got a B on his history test. When he takes her hand and offers her a fry, she just looks at him.

"What did I do?" he asks, lowering his voice as he glances around the table. No one is paying them any attention.

She sort of wants to smack him for being so incredibly dim-witted, but he also looks amazingly adorable as he looks at her in confusion. She won't stay mad at him- she _can't _stay mad at him- but she can at least throw out some empty threats.

"If you _ever _let Noah Puckerman copy my homework again, I am cutting you off."

Finn has no idea what she's talking about, she can tell. He probably gave Puck the paper and asked him to pass it back to her before their shared Spanish class. He probably has no clue that his idiot of a best friend harassed her for fifteen minutes the night before or copied all of her answers to turn her work in as his own.

That's exactly why she won't stay mad at him.

After school, they have a rare free afternoon. No glee, no football, no ballet… They are both one-hundred percent free with nothing to do. His mom is at work, and they go straight to his house after school. He eats some gross concoction from his refrigerator and tries to offer her some. She refuses, of course, wondering how he's even able to choke that crap down. When he's finished, he asks her if she wants to work on their homework, and she says yes because it is the responsible thing to do.

It isn't her fault that their chemistry books lay forgotten on the floor as he leans her back into his bed.

They've been doing… _this _for a few months now. They're getting better at it, she thinks, but she still isn't sure what the big deal is supposed to be. Finn seems to enjoy it more than she does, which she assumes is completely normal. It's not that she _hates _it or anything. She doesn't even dislike it. She just hasn't figured out exactly what she's supposed to do to see the stars and fireworks she's always heard about.

But Finn is happy. And that makes her happy. She's _very _glad that she waited for him, and the tearful confession she made after lying about what _didn't _happen with Jesse seemed to relieve him of quite a bit of anxiety. Knowing they were going to experience all of it together for the first time was amazing. She apologized over and over when she told the truth, and then she told him that waiting for _him _was the best decision she ever made. And she meant every word of it.

Things like this don't feel wrong when you're doing them for the right reasons.

He drops her off at her house right around dinner time. He kisses her and tells her he loves her, and she's not surprised because he nearly always says it after they've had sex. She doesn't feel like that's any indication that he's being anything less than truthful, of course- she just assumes that his emotions are heightened afterwards. It's nice.

After dinner, she opens her laptop to check her MySpace. The video she uploaded the night before should definitely have some hits by now, and she is eager to read her fan's comments. There are three nice comments and seventeen less-than-constructively critical comments. She chooses to ignore those. She especially chooses to ignore the comment from Santana that says she looks like an out of work drag queen auditioning for a low budget porn film.

School the next morning is relatively uneventful until fifth period when she finds her skirt absolutely _soaked _by an entire bottle of water that Santana happens to _accidentally _spill on her. Rachel is well aware of the fact that she now has the distinct appearance of someone who has wet themselves, but she tries not to let her humiliation show. It's been a long time since she had anything dumped on her, but if she thinks back to a year ago, this was a normal, nearly everyday occurrence. She can _deal _with it.

A whole group of Cheerios snickers at her as she walks as quickly towards the nearest ladies' room, and she does her very best to show them no reaction. There is no reason to get upset, and she tells herself this over and over again as she blots away at herself with a handful of paper towels. It's pointless. Her skirt is soaked, and no amount of paper towels is going to change that. She doesn't have any extra clothes with her because there's been no need. She _has _to go to her next class because there's a quiz, and she can't miss it. She has no choice.

She hears her phone vibrating from inside her purse, and she pulls it out, determined not to cry or be anymore concerned with her current situation than absolutely necessary. Finn is texting her, wanting to know where she is. She nearly ignores him, but then she finally gives in and texts him back.

He's waiting for her outside of the bathroom and hugs her tight before walking her to class. He gives her his jacket, and it's big enough on her to nearly hide the fact that she's got a huge water-stain where her skirt should be. He really is the nicest person she's ever met in her whole life.

By 3:00, her skirt is dry, and she has made a conscious decision to _not _care. School is over, and she's managed to make it the rest of the day without being covered in any other type of beverage. All she has to do is make it through glee and then she can go home and forget all about this entire day.

The choir room is at the opposite end of the school from the math wing, and she makes her way as quickly as possible. She likes to get to rehearsal early to give herself time for _proper _vocal warm up (Mr. Schuester's idea of warming up a voice is akin to warming up an Eskimo in Antarctica- it does nearly more harm than good). She also likes the few minutes she gets all to herself before the rest of her teammates start dragging in.

It doesn't appear that she's going to have those few minutes today.

"Yo, Rach. Slow down, will ya? Nobody's bombing the school or anything."

"What do you want, Noah?" She doesn't stop, nor does she even slow down as she makes her way down the quickly emptying hallway.

"Damn, girl! I'm just trying to say hi."

She rolls her eyes and keeps walking. To her surprise (and disgust), Puck keeps pace with her. "What's up your ass?" he asks, eyeing her as they turn a corner in the direction of the music hall.

"I am _trying _to make it to glee a few minutes early so that I can warm up," she says hotly, already more than a bit annoyed that he's going to interrupt her plans.

"Guess what," he says with fake enthusiasm. "That's where I'm headed, too!"

"There's fifteen minutes left," she says without missing a beat. "Haven't you got a freshman to toss in a dumpster or a female to disrespect somewhere?"

"Got one right here."

She glares at him. "You will _not _disrespect me!"

"_Kidding!" _He looks at her like she's lost her mind. "Jesus Christ, woman! What's wrong with you? Did _Cats _close or something?"

That gets her to stop. She looks at him with something she could only describe as a mixture of annoyance and pity. "_Cats _closed in 2000. We were in _first grade, _Noah." He rolls his eyes. "And is that really the only musical you know?"

"No," he shoots back defiantly, and she can tell he's going to argue for the sake of arguing.

"Name another."

"_Mamma Mia!" _

"One that doesn't have a film version starring Amanda Seyfried."

He stares at her for a second and then comes back with, _"Chicago."_

"_Or _Catherine Zeta-Jones."

Nothing.

"That's what I thought." She flips her hair over her shoulder and continues on in the direction of rehearsal. She should have known he wouldn't give up that easily, though, because he catches right up with her and starts quizzing her instead.

"Name one player for the Yankees."

"Derek Jeter," she says smugly, not even bothering to hide the triumphant smirk that covers her face.

"One that _doesn't _have his own cologne."

Nothing.

"That's what I thought."

Glee is just as awful as she feared that day. Mr. Schuester has decided that they need to do more classic rock and has handed them sheet music that he's apparently butchered and Frankensteined into a medley of The Beatles, Pink Floyd, and Led Zeppelin. When put together, it sounds like a really, _really _bad version of a drunken Rock Band game. She doesn't care _what _Mr. Schue says- "Hey Jude" does not in any way mesh well with "Whole Lotta Love."

Just _no._

Rachel spends the entire rehearsal trying to avoid Santana who has apparently commissioned Artie to "accidentally" run over her foot with his wheelchair. She only suspects this because Santana giggles harder each time, and by the fourth "accident," she has to sit down to compose herself. She isn't the only one who finds it amusing, of course. Most everyone in the room laughs at one point or another- save Finn, of course, and Matt, who is too nice to laugh at something like that. She also notices that Puck doesn't seem too amused, but she figures this has less to do with him feeling sorry for her and more to do with the fact that he and Santana are in the midst of some non-lover's spat.

She cannot _wait _to get home.

"Just try to stay out of her way," Finn tells her as he drives her home. "Santana feeds on fear, you know that."

"I'm not _scared _of her," she repeats for what feels like the millionth time but is really only the second. "I just want her to leave me alone."

"She'll get bored. Just try and ignore her."

That's easy for him to say when he isn't the one who was forced to spend the entire last half of the day looking like someone badly in need of an adult diaper. Finn doesn't understand that 'try to ignore her' isn't good advice because no one's ever picked on him. It's hard to ignore, even when you're used to it. She thinks she does a pretty good job of it, but that doesn't mean it's _easy._

She can't believe Santana is _this _upset over one stupid sentence.

When she logs onto MySpace that night, though, she finds a brand new comment under her latest video. It's adorned with three smiley faces, though it's not the least bit friendly.

"_Hey babe, just thought I'd fill you in and let you know I fucked your boyfriend!"_

One sentence.

One sentence is all it takes for Santana Lopez to win and _officially _ruin her life.

… … …

A/N: Agh, I've officially been bit by the Puckleberry bug! Not sure how long this is going to be, but we'll see where it goes. Hope you enjoyed it, and reviews are always appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

Her phone starts ringing almost right away.

She erases the MySpace comment as soon as she reads it. She doesn't have any fairy tale notion that erasing the sentence is going to erase the words from her mind, but at least it's no longer out there for the world to see. She never erases comments- no matter how cruel they are. This time, though, she cannot stand it.

She doesn't know if someone has filled Finn in or if he happened to see the post before she deleted it, but he starts calling within minutes. At first, he leaves no messages. He hangs up, waits five minutes, and calls back. He does this over and over for nearly an hour and a half before he starts leaving her excessive voicemails.

"Rachel, _please _answer the phone or call me back. I need to talk to you. _Please."_

In between the calls, he sends her numerous texts. They all say much the same things that his voicemails say. He needs to talk to her. He wants to explain. He doesn't care if she yells at him, he just wants her to call him.

She ignores it all.

At 11:03, she turns her phone completely off.

Her dad knocks on her door at 11:33 and asks if she's alright. She never stays up this late, and he hasn't heard a peep from her room besides her phone all night. He knows something's wrong, so she just tells him the truth. She doesn't lie to her parents- not unless it's absolutely necessary and for their own good. She is open and honest, and they trust her. She has the sort of relationship with her dads that most people could only dream about, and she is very thankful for this. She has never had many people in her life on whom she could fully rely, but her dads have always loved her no matter what. As difficult as other people like to make her life, there is a large part of her that is simply glad that she has two men in her life who will always be there for her and will never, ever turn their backs on her.

And she tells the truth.

"I think Finn lied to me…"

She tells her dad about the MySpace message, about the way Finn has been literally blowing her phone up all night, and she even goes into detail about her own lie and the way she apologized profusely and finally told the truth. He sits on the end of her bed and listens to her. He doesn't interrupt or judge her or anything. When she is finished, he simply opens his arms to her, hugs her, and kisses the top of her head.

She feels a little bit better, and he tucks her into bed the same way he used to do when she was a child. With one more kiss to her forehead, he finally offers up his opinion.

"You should at least hear him out, sweetie."

That night, she sleeps a grand total of two hours. She finally starts crying around one AM and doesn't stop until four. At six, she turns off her alarm but doesn't make it to the elliptical. Instead, she stares at her ceiling and tries to decide whether she wants to destroy the perfect attendance record she's had since fourth grade.

Eventually, she pulls herself out of bed, showers, and heads downstairs. She hasn't missed a day of school in years, and she isn't going to let a boy be the cause of her first absence. After all, she made it to school with a broken leg _and_ a broken wrist when she was twelve and had a very bad fall in gymnastics. Boyfriend drama is _not _more painful than that.

Except that, of course, it _is._

She asks her dad to drop her off at school on his way to work, and she makes sure they leave a full half hour before Finn usually shows up. It's early for her father, but he doesn't complain and says he can just kill the extra time before work with a Starbucks run. She tries to avoid the previous night's conversation altogether on the way to school, but he finally brings it up when they're about a mile from school.

"Rachel, honey, have you considered that maybe this entire thing is just a lie and an attempt to hurt you? The girl who said this… she's not exactly your _friend, _is she?"

Rachel nearly chokes on the idea. "She helps people draw… _unflattering _pictures of me on the bathroom walls."

"_What?" _The car almost swerves into the other lane when her father whips his head around to stare at her.

"It's fine, Dad," she says quickly, swallowing away the fact that it's not at all fine. Of course she has considered the fact that Santana could very well be lying. She knows that's not the case, though, because not once in all twenty-four voicemails did Finn ever once say that it wasn't true. If it was a lie, he would let her know immediately.

He didn't. It's true.

She manages to avoid him before school. She hides out in the library because she knows he won't look there. She isn't even sure if he knows where the library is. He'll expect her to be in the bathroom or in the choir room. She doesn't want to be found, so she hides. He texts her a few minutes before the warning bell and asks her if she's at school.

She ignores him.

English is boring, and she finds it impossible to focus on the lecture when she's nearly positive that everyone in the class knows why she's upset and is staring at her. This may, of course, be a complete exaggeration, but no one has ever accused her of being _under-_dramatic.

When the bell rings, she expects him to be waiting outside of her classroom. He isn't. This doesn't bother her, and she's actually relieved. Maybe he is giving her space, or maybe he doesn't want to cause a scene at school. Either way, she's glad that he isn't bothering her for at least the moment. That moment, of course, is short-lived.

When she turns down the foreign language hall, she immediately wishes that she'd chosen French as her language of choice instead of Spanish. Mr. Schuester is outside in the hallway, standing by the door of his classroom with Finn. They are talking in low voices, and she can tell from the short distance that Finn is pouring his heart out and looking for some sort of advice. And since Mr. Schue _clearly _has no friends his own age, he is more than eager to stick his nose into business not his own.

"Rachel!"

She does not have the opportunity to turn and walk in the opposite direction before they spot her. Finn says nothing, and Mr. Schuester says her name again and looks at her expectantly. With no other option, she clutches her bag more tightly and walks straight to the classroom with her head held high and without an ounce of emotion on her face.

Just as she reaches the door, though, a hand grabs her elbow. "Rach, _please…" _

She looks at Finn and, in the most controlled voice she can muster, says, "I am not speaking to you right now."

He lets go of her and doesn't argue. She's a little bit surprised by this, but she takes her opportunity and enters the classroom. There aren't too many other people inside already, but she takes a seat at her regular empty table and doesn't even bother getting out her book. She just sits there, looking down at the desk in front of her, and wondering what in the world she's done to deserve all of this. She's been good all morning, but she feels her eyes start to water, and she blinks away the tears quickly before they have a chance to fall.

"Rachel, I need to see you in the hallway." Mr. Schue is standing over and speaking quietly. She wants to pretend like she can't hear him, but, of course, that is not a viable option. Instead, she just looks up at him and doesn't move. "He's not out there. I just want to talk to you."

She doesn't want to go, but she knows that if she doesn't, Mr. Schuester is going to be even pissier than normal with her. Besides, the few people who are already in the classroom are staring unabashedly , and she knows that any conversation she has at this desk is going to turn into the school's newest gossip. Without a word, she quietly pushes her chair away from the table and walks out of the room. Mr. Schue follows her a second later.

Before he can even speak, though, she cuts him off.

"Mr. Schuester, I mean no disrespect, but this is between Finn and me. I do not want to talk to him right now, and his constant harassing is not going to change that. _You _interfering on his behalf is not going to change that, either. It's really no one else's business, and I don't particularly want to discuss it."

She knows that it's fairly rude, but she doesn't really care. She thinks it's fairly rude of her teacher to call her out of class in front of other students and bring her into the hallway to lecture her about giving Finn the benefit of the doubt. He hasn't said this yet, of course, but she is positive it is coming.

"Rachel," his voice sounds oddly gentle, which is not a tone she normally hears from him when her name is concerned. "I am not getting into whatever is going on between you and Finn. I just want to make sure you're alright."

"I'm fine," she lies immediately.

"Finn is worried about you." She raises her eyebrows and says nothing. Somehow, she doesn't think Mr. Schue wants to hear what is actually on her mind. "He just wants to talk to you."

So much for not 'getting into' their business.

"I will talk to him when I am _ready_ to talk to him," she says firmly. "Until then, it doesn't concern anyone else. If you're worried about our current relationship affecting the harmonies in glee, feel free to give all my parts to Santana. Apparently she and Finn have great chemistry."

She doesn't _really _mean to say it. It just slips out. Sort of.

Mr. Schue doesn't say anything. He looks at her like he's contemplating the best way to respond, but the warning bell cuts him off. He just shakes his head almost sadly (though it's very possible her overactive imagination is just assuming it's sadness) before motioning her back into the classroom.

Puck is eight minutes late to class. He just shrugs at Mr. Schue when he interrupts, and either Puck is now getting the Finn treatment or Mr. Schuester is just too tired to deal with anything else because he barely lifts his eyebrows and says absolutely nothing. Rachel makes a very pointed effort to _not _make any sort of eye contact, and there's a part of her that knows she's going to just lose it if he sits down beside her. He doesn't. He sits down at a table with two Cheerios and doesn't acknowledge her at all.

She catches him staring at her about halfway through the class, but she looks away quickly. When she glances back over a couple of minutes later, he's smirking and passing notes with the cheerleaders on either side of him. One of them giggles quietly, and Rachel notices right away that one of Puck's hands is hidden beneath the desk. She doesn't even want to _know _what's going on under that table.

She hurries out of class the second the bell rings, and she spends the rest of the day actively avoiding everyone she knows. Finn doesn't try to corner her anymore, and she doesn't know if it's because he's given up or if it's because he's respecting the fact that she clearly doesn't want to make a scene at school. Kurt stalks her all the way from the girls' bathroom to calculus, and she's never been more tempted in her life to actually slap someone. His fake concern does not mask the triumphant little smirk on his face. Tina sits with her at lunch and asks her if she wants to talk. When she says no, they eat in silence and both stare at the table. Santana makes a point to smile brightly at her from across the hallway before sixth period. And Mercedes actually shoots her a halfway sympathetic look when they're in chemistry.

Rachel hates every bit of it.

The day passes as slowly as possible, and she's not sure there's ever been a longer day in history. The only thing that keeps her going is the knowledge that it's Friday and that after today, she can hole up in her bedroom all weekend and not have to worry about dodging people at every single corner. Right before last period, though, she happens upon a scene that certainly doesn't help to move her day along.

Santana and Finn are standing right outside the cafeteria glaring at each other. To be so much smaller, Santana looks absolutely terrifying as she pulls herself to every inch of her height and stares him down. Finn's face is bright red, and his eyes are flashing dangerously. They are clearly arguing, though Rachel is too far away to actually make out the words that are being said. There's a whole crowd of people standing around to watch, and she honestly thinks she wants to die when Santana somehow manages to spot her across the crowd and crosses her arms, smirking. Nearly everyone, Finn included, turns to see what she's staring at, and Rachel feels tears once again tugging at the back of her eyes. She turns and walks away as quickly as possible, both completely devastated and mortified.

She spends the last class of the day in the nurse's office, lying on one of the cots and wondering how Puck manages to get away with this every single day.

Finn texts her as soon as school is out and asks if he can give her a ride home. She replies for the first time since this all started and tells him no. He doesn't press the matter.

She's waiting for one of her parents to pick her up, and when she glances at her watch and sees that they're nearly fifteen minutes late, she starts to get a little annoyed. Both of her dads work fairly important jobs that keep them busy much of the time. Still, there should be at least a _tiny _window of time in the world of financial planning and practicing law that allows them to drop by their daughter's school and pick her up.

When she finally moves past annoyed and into pissed off, she calls them. From one, she hears, "Mark was supposed to get you." From the other, she gets, "Thomas said he was going to pick you up. Is he not there yet?"

She tells them both to forget it. She is _so _using this against them the next time they start giving her a list of reasons as to why she can't have a car.

She doesn't know what she's going to do. All the school buses have left, and it's not exactly like she has a ton of friends who would be willing to take her home. She's desperate enough to call Tina and ask for a ride, but she figures that she's probably long-gone from school by now. Most people don't willingly stick around on a Friday afternoon. She realizes quickly that her only real option is to walk home, even though it's not exactly a short distance.

She starts in the direction of the street and doesn't pay much attention to the person exiting the back door of the school. In fact, she's fumbling in her bag for her iPod and doesn't even realize someone is behind her until they speak.

"What the hell are you doing?"

She thinks that whoever is producing the musical of her life must really hate her because Noah Puckerman is nearly the last person she wants to see right now. Well, second to last. Okay, actually _third _to last.

"What are _you _doing?" she asks in return without bothering to stop. "School let out half an hour ago."

"I was in Figgins's office. Apparently I am being accused of stealing the dissection frogs from biology and hiding them in Lockard's unused filing cabinet."

She looks at him. "Did you do it?"

"Yeah. What's your point?"

Rachel sighs and rolls her eyes as she keeps walking across the parking lot toward the street.

"Where's your ride?" he asks, apparently not put out by the fact that she is actively trying to ignore him.

"Apparently in federal court arguing a carjacking case," she says without missing a beat.

"_Awesome."_

She rolls her eyes again.

"So what? You're walking home?"

She shrugs.

"No, you're not. I'll take you."

"Thank you for the offer," she says curtly, "but I'm fine."

"Your house is like five miles from here."

She is quickly losing her patience and is more than a little annoyed by the fact that they passed his truck already and he's still following her. "I do seven miles on the treadmill every single night," she says, and she can tell he's impressed because she sees his eyebrows rise from the corner of her eye.

And then a raindrop hits her smack in the forehead.

She _hates _Ohio.

"I'm not letting you walk home in the rain. Come on." He turns around and starts walking back toward her truck. She wants to tell him how presumptuous it is for him to assume that he has any sort of authority whatsoever to _let _her do anything at all. But she's so depressed and tired that she doesn't even feel up to it. So she just follows him and climbs into the passenger side after he's already started the truck. Apparently chivalry is lost on him.

They make it to the third stoplight before he brings it up.

"So. You and Finn, huh?"

She bites down hard on the back of her teeth and stares out the window at the raindrops that are now hitting the glass. "I don't want to talk about it," she says flatly. "It's between Finn and me." She has no idea why people are so damn interested in her business, but it is really starting to get old.

"Yeah, whatever," Puck says as if he doesn't care in the least. He barely even pauses at the next stop sign, and she wonders if today is going to be her last day on earth. How fitting for her life to end just when everything's all hit rock bottom. "But you should just know… Santana's a liar."

Rachel says nothing.

"I mean, she says stuff just because she knows it fucks with people. That shit like gets her off or something. But she's a bitch, dude."

All of that is true. However, that doesn't change the fact that she's clearly not lying about this.

"Don't insult my intelligence, Noah. Finn may be an idiot, but you're not." She sees him look over at her and once again fears for her life. "You might like to play dumb, but you're not a very good actor. And you know as well as I do that what she said_ is _true."

Puck is caught off guard, and she can tell he wasn't expecting her to shoot him down so quickly. But really, it's just insulting for him to sit there and try to feed her a bunch of crap just because he adheres to some stupid boy code or something. She waits for his response, and she gets it a second later. It's exactly the sort of response she would _expect _him to come up with.

"Well, shit, Rachel. Nobody's a virgin anymore, you can't like hold that shit against him. That's stupid."

She feels like her eyes have begun rolling on their own accord lately. "That's not even remotely what this is about, and the fact that you don't have any idea what's _really _going on says enough. So please. _Stop _talking about it."

"Whatever. I'm just saying, don't fucking trust shit just because Santana says it. I _know _that girl, okay? You don't."

She closes her eyes for a few seconds and wonders where this awful headache came from. "I understand that Finn is your best friend," she says slowly. "But you defending him to me means nothing. I'm not trying to be rude, but I don't appreciate it and I certainly don't_ need _it_."_

"Well, you could at least talk to him."

"I'll talk to him when I'm ready!" Her voice heightens on instinct, and she can't help the fact that she's thisclose to being pushed straight over the edge. She knows this has nothing at all to do with the person currently driving her home, but she ends up taking it out on him anyway. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just didn't want to cause an even bigger scene in school? It's bad enough that everywhere I went today, people stared at me and whispered behind my back. Everyone in the whole school knows! They all know, and they all think I'm some stupid idiot for not figuring it out sooner! And it's humiliating. It really is. I know you probably think I should just be used to it by now, but there's a point when I just can't take anymore!"

She says all of this very quickly and doesn't even take a breath. She really doesn't mean for it to all come out like that, but she can't take it back, either. She's embarrassed, though. She hates showing weakness, and showing it to someone who has, in the past, literally _tormented _her is absolutely mortifying. He doesn't bully her anymore, but she can't help feeling like admitting that she _does _have a breaking point and that her feelings c_an _be damaged is somehow giving him a late-coming victory.

He looks straight ahead at the road and doesn't say anything else.

A few minutes later, when they pull onto her street, they both see the same thing. Finn's car is parked in her driveway, and if she wasn't so afraid of appearing… well, a_fraid, _she would ask if they could keep going or turn around. She's shown enough weakness for one day, though, so she pretends not to be the least bit fazed as Puck stops in front of her house and lets her out. She thanks him for the ride but avoids eye contact, and he just shrugs one shoulder in response.

She isn't quite sure her day could get any worse, but she knows it will.

She marches up her driveway clutching her bag tightly as she walks right past Finn's car and up to her front door. She checks the reflection of one of the windows and sees Finn getting out of his car and staring down the road at Puck's disappearing truck. She hears him walk up to her, and she can tell by the reflection that he is bothered by the fact that she's just been dropped off by the friend who impregnated his last girlfriend.

"What were you doing with him?"

The rain is starting to fall harder as she fiddles with her key and finally turns the lock. "He gave me a ride home. Not that it's any of your business."

"Can I come in?"

She ignores him and pushes the door open. She steps into the house and leaves him without an answer, though she doesn't close the door behind her. He apparently takes that as an invitation to enter because he follows her and shuts the door once he's entered. She turns around once they're in her living room and doesn't offer him anything to drink or even a seat on the sofa.

"Talk," she says flatly, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at him expectantly. She isn't sure where the sudden burst of courage has come from, but she is tired of putting this off.

Finn looks really, really upset, and if she were in a more dramatic mood, she might even say he's been crying. She doesn't really believe he has, though. She thinks he's probably just as tired of this as she is. He hasn't had an easy day, either, and she thinks she can see proof of this in his eyes.

"Rachel, I'm _sorry," _he says quietly, and she can tell right away that he isn't lying. He really _is _sorry. She isn't sure if she cares. "Just… Let me explain."

"What is there to explain?" she asks. "If it's true, there's no explanation needed. If it's _not _true, then deny it."

He says nothing.

"You're not denying it."

She thinks she can literally feel her heart break as she says those words.

"Rachel, it was _nothing." _He sounds more than a little bit desperate, and he looks like he really does want to burst into tears. She does, too, but she won't. "It was just so stupid, and it didn't mean _anything!"_

"Are you still seeing her?"

"What?" He shakes his head and looks sort of disgusted. "No! I was never _seeing _her in the first place!"

"You were just sleeping with her."

"One time, Rach!" He pops his knuckles unconsciously, and she fights the urge to tell him that it's bad for his bones. "It was just once, and it was stupid, and I just would rather forget it ever even happened!"

"Well, perhaps you should have chosen Brittany then. Her attention span isn't as long as Santana's."

She walks past him toward the kitchen and gets herself a bottle of water. She expects him to follow her right away, but he doesn't. In fact, she stands leaning against her counter for nearly two full minutes before he finally comes after her.

"I only did it because I thought _you_ were gonna do it with Jesse," he says lowly, and she notices that he can't really look her in the eye. "I thought it would help me not care so much…"

She wants to hit him. _Hard. _She can't believe he's trying to make her feel guilty over something _he _did.

"I don't care why you did it," she says hatefully. "I care that you _lied _about it."

And then he finally does look back up. "You lied, too."

"Yeah, I did," she snaps, slamming her bottle down onto the counter and trying desperately to keep her voice even and controlled. "And then I told you the _truth. _You remember? Right before I lost my _virginity?"_

"Rachel…"

"I gave you literally _everything _I have," she says, trying not to sound as desperate and as hurt as she really is. "I trusted you with the most important thing I can imagine, and you _lied _to me!"

He looks down at the floor. He's ashamed, and she can tell. She's glad he is and thinks that he deserves to feel guilty. She knows it's wrong, but she just wants him to feel a little bit of what she's feeling because the longer she stands there looking at him, the worse the pain in her gut feels.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, and he lifts his eyes from the floor and looks up at her pleadingly. "Please just tell me how to fix it, and I'll do _anything. _I just can't lose you, Rachel. I love you."

She wants to cry, and she knows the longer she stands here looking at him stare at her with those big sad eyes, the closer she's going to get. She isn't sure what she's feeling, but she knows it hurts, and she knows that this is only making it worse. A piece of wants to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him and tell him everything's fine.

But her brain won't let her.

"Finn, please just leave me alone for right now." She literally cannot find the fight in her, and it feels much easier to just give up. At least for now.

Finn looks defeated, but she can tell he knows he doesn't really have a leg to stand on. "Will you call me later?"

"I don't know." She looks away because it's easier than seeing his face.

He stands there for a few seconds, and she can feel him staring at her. She doesn't know what to do or what to say, so she just looks at the floor and waits for him to finally leave. She doesn't move until she hears his car start and back down her driveway. Part of her is heartbroken that he didn't stay and try to fight for her.

The rest of her is just plain heartbroken.

It's not even 4:30, and she feels ready for bed. She doesn't even bother taking her school things to her room with her, and she leaves them sitting on the living room floor. When her dad gets home from court, he'll probably have something to say about her not picking up after herself, but she can't find the energy to do anything about it.

Her bedroom has always been a safe haven and has always been completely and totally her own. Everywhere she looks, there are little pieces of her. Her room is filled with all the things she loves and with the people she loves as well. The very first thing she does after shutting her door is to take down the strip of photo booth pictures stuck in the corner of her vanity mirror. The boy smiling in those pictures doesn't look anything like the one who was just standing in her kitchen.

She falls gracelessly onto her bed and briefly imagines that this is all a movie. This is the scene where she's supposed to pull a pillow over her head and dissolve into broken, heart-wrenching sobs. This is the scene that could potentially win her the Oscar.

Screw the Oscars. She just wants to sleep.

When she wakes up, her room is dark and her phone is beeping. It takes her a second to realize that she's actually even been asleep and then another second to process the fact that the annoying noise that woke her up is actually her phone. She sits up and flips on her beside lamp, immediately filling the room with light as she squints and rubs at her eyes. Her bag is lying on her floor, which means someone must have brought it up for her while she was napping. She leans over the edge of her bed and digs through it until she finds her phone.

"_Why weren't you at temple?"_

She doesn't know why Puck is texting her at (she glances at the time) 9:14 at night, nor does she know why he's asking her why she wasn't at temple. She doesn't go every week, so it's not extremely unusual for her _not _to be at the Friday night Shabbat service. More than this, though, is the fact that _he_ didn't even step foot into the synagogue past his Bar Mitzvah until a few months ago when a pregnant cheerleader moved into his house and his mother started _forcing _him to go. He's gotten out of it recently because of football, but there's no game tonight so he apparently was ordered back into it.

She doesn't know what gets into her, but she ignores his question and types out a question of her own in reply.

"_Where are you?"_

She asks because it's Friday night. And she knows from the months she's recently spent as the quarterback's girlfriend that Friday nights are spent losing football games and then getting drunk in basements. Since there was no game to speak of, she assumes that he's already at the party. And since it's already past nine, she assumes there are still another two good hours before the cops show up and break it up. She doesn't even know why she cares.

He texts her back and tells her he's at home, and she's surprised. He doesn't stay home on the weekends, so it's very odd that he should be there now. He sends another text and just says, _"Why?" _but she ignores it altogether. She has no idea what she's doing or any clue as to why, but she goes into her bathroom and does a few minor touch-ups to get rid of the evidence of her nap and heads back downstairs. The house is empty, so she assumes her fathers must have gone to dinner or out with friends after temple. They went in the same car, though, so she grabs the keys to the other one and sends them both a text letting them know she's going out.

And why she ends up in front of the Puckermans', she has no idea.

His mom answers the door and smiles at her brightly before ushering her inside. "Rachel, honey, are you better now? Your dad said you weren't feeling well."

She forces a smile back and nods. "I'm fine," she lies. "It was just a headache, but I think I slept it off. Is Noah here?"

"He's upstairs. Do you want me to call him? Or you can just go up if you want."

Rachel thinks it's very odd for a mother (a mother of _Puck) _to just willingly send girls up to her son's bedroom. She assumes this either means that she thinks Rachel is a good influence, is harmless, or is dating Finn and, therefore, off limits. She assumes it's not the last one given the fact that she just recently became a grandmother to one of Finn's girlfriend's child.

"I'll just go up, thanks." She flashes her another smile and goes upstairs. She's been here a few times before, but it still feels weird to be wandering around someone else's house alone. His bedroom door is shut, and she stops in the hallway, listening to the music coming from the other side. He's playing his guitar, and she unwillingly listens for mistakes or missed chords.

She doesn't hear any.

Finally, she plucks up the courage to knock on the door, and she hears the music stop and something that sounds like an annoyed swear. "Come in," he finally barks, and she knows he'd much rather say something like, "Fuck off," but is scared that the knocker is his mother.

She pushes the door open and just looks at him as he stares back at her with a somewhat vacant expression. "What the hell, Rachel? You can't answer somebody's fucking text?"

She shrugs one shoulder. "I just decided to come over and see what you were doing."

He looks down at the guitar in his lap and then back up at her, raising his eyebrows in explanation.

"Why aren't you out? It's Friday." Despite her nap, she still feels tired, and even speaking seems to drain her.

"My mom's got to work at five, so I need to be coherent in the morning in case the brat tries to set the house on fire or something."

"Oh." Suddenly, she feels very out of place, and she has no idea why she's even come here.

"I'm not supposed to have girls in my room, you know," he says lazily, setting his guitar aside as he stands up and reaches behind her to close the door. "House rule."

"Your mom sent me up here…"

Puck rolls his eyes and says, "Of _course _she fucking did."

Rachel has no idea what that's supposed to mean, but she also doesn't really care. She wants to sit down, but she feels weird. Luckily for her, she doesn't have to make small talk.

"So did you talk to Finn?"

She nods dully.

"And?"

She shrugs.

"What does," he shrugs his own shoulders in mocking, "mean?"

She sighs a little. "It means we talked. And he told me what I already knew. And what you already knew, too."

Puck looks like he's probably wondering why Finn would be stupid enough to actually tell the truth about something like that. He also looks a little bit like maybe he's feeling slightly awkward or something. She doesn't know why. She certainly doesn't know why she asks the next question.

"Noah, what did you say to get Quinn to sleep with you?"

"_What?" _If he was drinking something, it would spew from his mouth right about now.

Rachel feels her cheeks heat up, but she presses on. "What did you _say? _Or do? I mean, why did she suddenly decide to have sex with you?"

"What did I _say _to her?" He looks at her incredulously, but she just nods. "Ummm… You're not fat?"

Rachel is confused for a second until she realizes that he isn't addressing the statement (question) to her. He is merely repeating what he told Quinn in order to talk her into cheating on her boyfriend. She can hardly believe the idiocy of it.

"Are you serious?"

Now it's his turn to shrug. "She was having a bad day. Why do you care anyway?"

Rachel shakes her head, hoping that the subtle movement will somehow clear it and cause her to think coherently once more. It doesn't work.

"Because I wanted you to say it to me," she mumbles quietly.

He stares at her like maybe she's lost her mind, and maybe she has. "Rachel, you're like sixty pounds, I don't think anyone's ever called you fat."

She rolls her eyes. Partly because, of course, she is _not _sixty pounds, but mostly because he is completely oblivious to the point she's trying to make.

"That's not what I'm talking about," she mutters again, and she can actually feel her face starting to hurt from the abundance of frowning she's done today. He is totally lost, and she has possibly never been more embarrassed in her life. Somehow, though, her mouth keeps going. "I wanted to know what you said to her because I wanted you to say it to me and make it okay."

"Make _what _okay?"

She can't say the next part. She _won't. _She will just say it's nothing and then walk out and leave him bewildered. She doesn't know when her mouth started functioning without her brain's permission. At least it has the decency to whisper. "I wanted it to make it okay for _me _to have sex with you…"

Puck stares at her and says nothing. His mouth is halfway open, and she's so humiliated that she can't even look at him. She hates herself. Honestly _hates _herself.

"Are you fucking _high, _Rachel?"

His words are enough to break her. With nowhere else to go, she sits down on the edge of the bed and covers her face up with her hands. She tries really hard not to let them, but the tears start almost instantly. She doesn't know when she became so pathetic, and she literally wants to crawl into a hole and die. There's a stunned moment of silence, and she knows he's just standing there watching her make a fool out of herself by crying her eyes out, but she can't stop the tears.

"_Shit!" _he finally says, and he sounds pissed off and/or exasperated. "I am going to fucking kick Hudson's ass for this shit!"

That, of course, just makes her cry harder.

"Fuck. Rachel…" He sighs loudly, and she can't tell if he's just angry or if he's terrified. "Just stop crying, okay? _Damn!"_

This is easier said than done, but she gathers every ounce of willpower she has and tries to stop her tears. She can't look at him, though. She's too embarrassed, and she doesn't want to see him looking at her with whatever mix of disgust and smugness she's sure is covering his face. Her elbows go to her knees, and she hunches over, still hiding her face in her hands but with significantly less shoulder shaking and sobbing.

"What the hell did that douchebag say to you to make you start acting even crazier than normal?" he barks out, and she hates the way his voice sounds.

"He didn't say anything," she mumbles. "I just… I don't know, just forget it." She's prepared to beg if she has to, just to make sure this is never mentioned again.

"Just _forget _it?" She gasps a little when he grabs her wrists and yanks her hands away from her face. She has no choice but to look at him now, and he's standing over her looking like _he's _the one who's lost his damn mind.

"Please just forget it," she says quietly, and she hopes he can see the desperation in her eyes.

"Rachel Berry, why did you just come into my room and say you want to have sex with me?" He is staring at her harshly, and there's something about that look that makes her jump up and yank her wrists away from his grasp.

"I don't know!" she snaps. "I thought maybe it would make me feel better! I'm not thinking clearly!" She can hear the anger in her tone, and she knows he can, too. And possibly his mother and little sister can hear it downstairs as well.

"Obviously!" he scoffs. "Finn is my best friend."

"And that stopped you before?"

He sort of glares at her, but surely he had to know that would be the automatic response to a statement as idiotic as that.

"Look," he says edgily. "That was different."

"Right." She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, feeling a whole new round of tears coming on. She is so _pathetic. _"Because Quinn is beautiful, and I'm _me!"_

He rolls his own eyes this time. "Oh, my god, you are _such_ a fucking drama queen."

She glares at him, unable to even find the right words for what she wants to shout at him. Her whole head feels like it's about to explode, and she sputters about pointlessly until he finally shuts her up.

"It was different because Finn was never in _love _with her!"

That stops her, and she doesn't even know how she's still standing up. The whole thing just feels like a daze, and she can't tell whether she wants to go to sleep or throw up or cry. She feels sick but exhausted but furious but heartbroken. It's just too much.

And then her mouth starts mumbling those words again, completely ignoring her brain and every ounce of dignity she has.

"I won't tell him…"

Puck stares at her.

"I won't tell anyone," she goes on quietly. "I… I don't _want_ anyone to know."

"Then why do you want to do it?" he demands. "If it's not to piss him off and make him jealous, why are you even here?"

She bites down on her lip for a second and tries to think of the way to word her thought process. She just tells the truth. "I want to have a secret, too."

He is still staring at her. The cold hard glare is gone now, but he still looks like he might punch something.

"Please, Noah," she says quietly as she looks at him pleadingly, "I just want to _feel _something…"

He doesn't say anything, and then he exhales loudly through his nose before squinting and shaking his head a little bit. _"Fuck."_

And then she knows- in that one moment with that one sentence… She's just made a deal with the devil himself.

… … …

A/N: Thank you so much for all the replies to the first chapter! The response was great, and I hope you enjoyed this one as well. Please let me know your thoughts, and thanks again!


	3. Chapter 3

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

His mouth tastes bitter.

She thinks this must be how revenge tastes, but maybe that's not it all. After all, she didn't come here for revenge. She doesn't even have to talk herself into believing this because it's _true. _She isn't here for revenge.

She's here to forget.

Forgetting, of course, is easier said than done, and when she kisses him, all she can think of is Finn and how this is the _worst _thing she could do to him. All she can focus on is the way he's shorter than Finn and how her neck doesn't hurt as badly leaning up to kiss him. She notices all the differences in their kisses- the way he is rougher and doesn't take the time to build up to most heightened part. She notices the difference in the way they taste and the way they smell. His hands dig into her skin more deeply when he grasps her hips and pushes her away.

Huh?

He pushes her _away._

She doesn't know if she could possibly be more embarrassed, but the tingling she suddenly feels doesn't help. Now that there are three feet between them, she realizes all the good things about the kiss- the things she couldn't focus on when thoughts of Finn and his lie were swarming her brain. That doesn't make any of it right.

"You have lost your fucking mind," he tells her lowly, looking at her in a way that she feels is probably some sort of warning. She isn't sure what it means, though, and her brain isn't functioning well enough to help her decode it.

She doesn't know what to say, so she says nothing. She knows that her cheeks are bright red with embarrassment, and she knows he can probably see the tears that are once again starting to wet the corners of her eyes. She has never felt stupider in her life, and she'd give anything to be able to just disappear from that spot. She'd give even more if she could just erase this whole day forever.

Puck is looking at her like he's ready to maybe hit something or maybe scream. She doesn't feel the least bit intimidated, though, which somehow registers as a strange phenomenon at the back of her mind.

"You don't help me cheat on Spanish, _I _don't help you cheat on your boyfriend. Got it?"

She wants to laugh. To compare the two things is possibly the stupidest thing she's ever heard. She knows he's not stupid, though, and that he's simply grasping for straws to somehow erase the fact that he was definitely kissing her back just seconds ago.

"You wanted me to cheat on Jesse," she says quietly, challenging him because she wants him to admit that his reasoning is nearly as idiotic as Brittany's claim that her cat reads her diary.

"That kid is a closet-case douchebag. Doesn't count."

She doesn't care about Jesse. There's no point in getting over an argument about him. And she is too tired to explain that just because he is a talented musician and has a vast appreciation for Sondheim does _not _mean he is gay. It's not even worth it. Instead, she brings up a name that _is _worth it.

"Quinn."

The look of pure anger is back, and he literally clenches his teeth. "I _told _you that was completely different. Finn is in _love _with you!"

She wants to argue this. She wants to tell him that if Finn is really in love with her then he would never lie to her. She wants to tell him that if Finn really loves her, he'd never do anything that could possibly hurt her. She wants to tell him that Finn does _not _love her.

But it would be a lie.

Finn loves her. He tells her, and she believes him. She thinks he probably fell in love with her months before they were even together. She knows that's when she fell in love with him. But she doesn't want to think about that. She doesn't want to focus on all the reasons she knows her boyfriend loves her, nor does she want to focus on all the reasons why _she _loves _him._

"You're playing with fire." Puck's words draw her out of her momentary gaze, and she stares at him silently. "You need to go before you end up fucking up your life for real."

There is a part of her that resents him. _He _shouldn't be allowed to reject _her. _She is the one who should gets to decide those things, and he should just fall into the oversexed teenage boy stereotype that he fits so well. This is not the time for him to grow a goddamn _conscience. _

"You don't know anything about what I want out of life," she tells him, and she sounds as hateful as she feels. "Don't you dare stand there and tell me that _this _has anything at all to do with my _life."_

He has the nerve to actually look _impressed _(or amused) by the way she shoots back so firmly. Still, he is Noah Puckerman, and he will never just admit that she is right or give in. He is the type who will argue to death, just to hear his own voice.

"Everyone knows what you want out of life, Rachel, because you tell everyone every second of every fucking day! The Tommys and Finn Hudson. You're not that hard to figure out."

"The _Tonys," _she grits out, ready to dig her fingernails into his face and make an attempt at clawing his eyeballs out.

"Whatever," he says. "You need to go home, take a cold shower, and then take some antipsychotic medicine and get your fucking brain to work again because this shit is crazy even for you."

Words cannot express how truly _over _the crazy jokes she is. She has been hearing them for years, and they are not amusing or funny or anything else. She has spent many hours in rigorous rounds of therapy, and she is _not _certifiably crazy. She has never been diagnosed with any sort of mental disorder, nor has she ever been prescribed any sort of mood or behavior altering drugs. Not that she would take them even if they were offered because the chemicals in those types of medications are severe enough to adversely affect her away from her goals, and she doesn't like putting anything into her body besides the most natural herbal supplements. She sees a therapist because it is _healthy _and because he is her father's old college roommate and gives her parents a very good hourly rate. She does not see him because she is _crazy._

She wants to say all of this, but there is no point. Noah knows this already because she has told him on multiple occasions. Saying it again now will just detract from the task at hand, and _clearly, _he is not going to listen anyway. However, she has to say _something _because letting someone else get the last word is simply unnatural to her. Just as she opens her mouth, though, a knock interrupts her.

"_What?" _Puck glares at the door, and Rachel closes her mouth quickly just as his mom pushes into the room. She looks at him rather sharply, and Rachel assumes that she doesn't like being greeted so hatefully by her own child.

"I was going to tell you I was going to bed," his mom says crossly. "And also that I just found out I'm on call for the second shift tomorrow, so I may have to work a double. If I _do, _you need to remember that Rebekah has piano at three. Don't forget."

Puck rolls his eyes but nods. His mom doesn't look entirely pleased with _that _response, either, but she is obviously a woman who picks her battles. Rachel can imagine doing so would be required when you had a child as uncouth and ridiculous as this one. Honestly, the fact that his mother hasn't killed over somewhere from a heart attack must mean she's some sort of super-woman or something.

"Rachel, honey, are you sure you're alright? You're pretty flushed." She stands stunned as his mom reaches a hand up to her forehead and checks for a fever.

"I'm fine," she says quietly, trying not to think of why her cheeks are obviously flushed. She forces yet another fake smile, and it's apparently enough to appease Mrs. Puckerman because she smiles back and nods, dropping her hand back to her side.

"Mom," Puck breaks in quickly. "Do you see this chick in my room? The one _you _sent up here? I thought I'm not supposed to have girls in my room?"

"Yes, well, Rachel's not a whore like the rest of the girls you apparently know. So it's fine."

Rachel feels her cheeks heat up instantly, and she can literally _see _the words forming on the tip of Puck's tongue. Luckily, his mother tells them both goodnight and leaves before he can get them out. The second the door closes, though, he says it.

"Did you hear that? My mom says you're not a whore. Wonder what she'd think if she knew you were in here trying to rape me so you can have some fucked up secret contest with your boyfriend!"

She glares at him. Now she's just _pissed. _"I am _not _a whore!" she says hotly. "And I am certainly not trying to _rape _you, you idiot! Now who's the fucking drama queen?"

He stares at her, his eyes wide and an amused sort of smirk playing on his lips. It's absolutely _infuriating, _and she can't believe he's got her so worked up that she's been forced to resort to _cursing. _She doesn't use that sort of language very often because she thinks it shows a severe lack of vocabulary skills and is just plain vulgar. But this foul-mouthed cretin is apparently enough to bring out the very _worst _in her.

"You're not a whore, Rachel," he says, and he actually laughs a little bit when he says it. She doesn't know if that makes her feel better or worse. "You're like the anti-whore, so it's cool."

She knows she isn't. But she _is _here in her boyfriend's best friend's bedroom trying to force him into having sex with her. That does sort of make her…

"Oh, my god, I'm a whore…"

She feels the tears falling down her cheeks before she even has a chance to register them. She cannot believe what her life has become. Yesterday, she was normal. Today she is no better than some low-rent hooker. Except at least low-rent hookers get paid- she's willing to just throw herself out there for absolutely _nothing. _

And with _Noah Puckerman._

She's crying and can't even comprehend what is happening around her. She has no idea why she came here in the first place, much less why she is _still _here. This is humiliating and mortifying, and she cannot believe what a pathetic stupid _girl _she has become.

"Rachel, don't you dare start fucking crying again," Puck says sharply, and she can see through her watery eyes that he is looking at her with that same harsh, angry look he had earlier. She thinks she just might actually hate him. "I mean it, stop that! Fucking…" She cries harder despite the fact that he thinks he can apparently order her emotions to behave for him. "Damn it! I didn't sign up for this shit!"

She's angry with him, but she can almost sympathize with the fact that he did _not, _in fact, sign up for this. These tears aren't his. They aren't his fault, nor are they his responsibility. She isn't sure exactly _whose _responsibility they are, but she figures they would be better directed at another football player instead. She just can't do that right now, though. She isn't sure why she's able to cry here and hadn't been able to cry in her kitchen with _him _earlier.

She wipes at them, furious with herself and heartbroken that she actually _cares _this much. She tries really, really hard to stop crying. Puck is still swearing- both at her and at the air around them. She tries to focus on that and thinks that if she can just get really, really pissed off that she'll stop crying and can finally try to salvage the sliver of dignity she still possesses.

She is thoroughly shocked when she feels his lips pressed against hers again.

He's kissing her angrily and roughly, and this time, his tongue doesn't taste quite as bitter when it slips into her mouth. She realizes, of course, that if she can actually taste his tongue then she is not doing anything at all to delay his advances and is actually kissing him back. Her head is fuzzy, and she's pretty sure she's still crying, but it's hard to tell when he's got his hands on the back of her neck and is pulling her up on her tiptoes.

"What are you doing?" she gasps out when she finally recovers a tiny bit of her sanity and pulls away from him.

"Shutting you the hell up," he says meanly. "And making you stop with the fucking Lifetime crying bullshit."

"Don't do that." She isn't sure why she says it, but she isn't sure about _anything _at the moment.

"What the fuck do you want from me, Rachel?" He's seriously pissed off, and he's glaring at her like he's about to kick her out of his house. She wonders why he hasn't already.

His question throws her for a loop, though, and she no longer has the answer to it. "I already told you…" she mumbles, embarrassed that she can apparently _still _make the same idiotic request that brought her here in the first place.

He grabs her wrist and yanks her back to him. He's kissing her again before she can even process what's happening. She knows she should just pull away and leave, but she also finds that her feet aren't moving anywhere except in the direction he's pulling her. He yanks her down to his bed and manages to never once break the kiss. He's all tongue and teeth, and his fingers stay tight around her wrist as he turns her until she's halfway reclined. Her elbows catch her, and she manages to pull her head away just before she's laid all the way back.

"What are you doing?" she asks again, and she can hear how breathless she sounds

"I'm doing what you asked for." His voice somewhat resembles a growl, and she is both oddly turned on by it and terrified of it at the same time. "I'm gonna make you fucking _feel _something, you're gonna shut the hell up and stop with the goddamn tears, and then you're never going to fucking mention this again. Got it?"

She stares at him and says nothing because she's suddenly very, very scared. She isn't at all sure if there is anything even _remotely _intelligent about her current situation, and she is more than a little afraid that if she lets this actually happen that she's going to make herself worse off than before.

His eyes are so beautiful…

"You in or not?" he asks, obviously realizing her hesitation. His voice isn't any nicer, but at least he's not kissing her and completely rendering her thoughtless anymore. "Because if we're gonna do this, let's go. If not, you need to get to fuck." He swings his head in the direction of his door, and her eyes follow, lingering there and knowing that if she has any sort of decency or self-respect at all that she'll get up and use it. Her mouth forms words before her brain makes any sort of decision.

"I'm in…"

He doesn't waste anymore time before moving straight back into it, kissing her and effectively trapping her hips directly beneath his as he leans over her. The hand that previously had her wrist moves to the side of her neck as he pulls her face up to what is apparently a better angle, and his other hand keeps a steady hold on her hip, making it so that he is completely in control. She doesn't taste the bitterness at all now.

This is not the first time they've kissed. It's not the second or the third or the fourth or the twelfth, either. They spent six days dating, and they spent the vast majority of that time doing exactly this. In fact, everything she knows about kissing to this day, she can really attribute to him. She also knows what it feels like to be trapped beneath him like this, and she knows it's all gone to hell now because there's certainly no way out.

He is a very physical person, and she knows that if she is going to get through this, she's got to completely clear her head and stop focusing on the way he's smaller and yet somehow heavier than her boyfriend. She has to stop thinking about the fact that she _has_ a boyfriend altogether. If she dwells on that, _this _isn't going to work, and she really, really needs it to work.

His mouth leaves hers, and she feels it attach itself to the bottom of her earlobe. She squirms a little bit, surprised that he remembers. She was shocked the very first time he did it because she certainly didn't know that that one spot could cause her to start making noises in her throat that probably were _not _very beneficial to her singing voice. In all the kissing she's done since those six days last fall, she realizes that he was the first and the last person to ever do it. That sort of scares her.

Her hands have somehow ended up on his shoulders, but as she turns her head to give him better access to her ear, they unconsciously move to the buttons on her shirt. She gets two of them undone, but then he stops her with the hand that was previously holding her hip still.

"Keep your fucking clothes on," he whispers into the ear he's currently tormenting. "I'm not having sex with you."

She pulls away, effectively disconnecting the attachment between his tongue and her earlobe. "What?" she asks, completely confused. "You said-"

"Shut up, Rachel," he cuts her off and kisses her quickly. "I said I was going to make you fucking feel something, and you will, but I'm not fucking you."

"I'm not a virgin anymore," she breathes. "It doesn't matter."

He actually rolls his eyes. "I don't give a shit about that…"

She doesn't process his words very easily because he's back to her ear, and she can't really concentrate on _anything _but that. Despite the fact that he won't let her take her clothes off, he doesn't waste any time whatsoever in sliding his hand up her shirt. She doesn't push him away like she did last year. If he wants to touch her boobs, she's going to let him. In fact, she _wants _him to.

She isn't extremely well-endowed, and she knows this. Finn calls it a "perfect handful." She has a feeling Puck thinks it's just a waste. That doesn't stop him tugging at the strap of her bra until he manages to pull the thing down enough to give him access without having to actually take off any clothes. She shivers a little bit when he starts to work them and even makes that stupid little noise again, which she sees causes him to smirk before he moves back to kiss her. He must be very talented. Finn has to be able to see what he is doing, she doesn't think he could ever manage to do all this without actually getting her bra off and removing her shirt altogether. Sure, he can grope, but to actually make _her _feel it, he needs a visual.

_Damn it! _She needs to erase his name from her head for the time being. She can't keep doing this. Can't keep comparing them when they are _nothing _alike.

In order to help herself forget, she grabs Puck's face in both her hands and moves until she catches him off-guard and can roll them both over. She straddles his hips and takes her own turn at the rough/angry/all tongues and teeth sort of kiss. He doesn't hate her for it. She can tell by the way he smiles up at her like he's somehow proud of her or something. He is probably taking credit that is rightly his, but she will never, ever admit this.

He doesn't bother to pull her bra strap back up when he slides both hands around to her back and under her shirt. She focuses on the way his fingertips feel against her skin as they slide up her back and then back down.

"You have guitar fingers," she says, gasping a little bit when she pulls away from the kiss suddenly.

He looks at her like she's crazy. "What the hell are you talking about?"

To prove her point, she sits up a little, reaches behind her, and pulls one of his hands around to look at it. She turns it over in her own hand and then runs her thumb over the pad of his index finger. They are hard with just the slightest bit of callous to them. "You can tell," she says, and her voice sounds wispier than usual. She feels him staring at her as she studies his hand, and when she looks up, she feels a little bit embarrassed for some reason. She feels her face gets warmer, but he's looking at her with some sort of strange look she's never seen before. It's a mix between the _you're crazy _look and something else that she can't quite define.

When they make eye contact, though, he just flashes her a grin and says, "Give me my fingers back. I need those."

She doesn't think she'll stay alive if she tries to decipher _those _words, so she just lets him take his hand back and kisses him for what feels like the millionth time that evening. He doesn't have any hair to twist her fingers through, so she keeps one hand on the side of his neck and lets the other one slide up and down his arm. He's got the best arms she's ever seen, and she loves the hardness of his muscles under her hands. He is attractive- that's obvious. His body is practically _perfect. _He works hard to keep it that way, and she can appreciate that, having a mild obsession with physical fitness herself. It's not hard to see why it's so easy for him to get girls, nor is it difficult to realize why so many girls actually throw themselves at him.

Girls like her.

She realizes that she is no better than any of the others, but she can't focus on what that means when she feels that he's somehow got his hands not only on her butt but also _under _her skirt. She doesn't even know how he managed that without her knowing, but she can't fight her natural instinct to press her hips down to his. She feels his grip on her tighten, and she can't help the way her hips twist automatically. She can tell he likes it because biology makes those things rather obvious.

"You have a nice ass," he tells her, and she can feel him smiling against her lips.

"Thank you. I read that digging your heels into the elliptical gives you a better workout in that area."

"You talk too fucking much." He's still smiling.

"I know."

And she busies her mouth by kissing his neck instead of using it to talk. She doesn't even know why she just said that. She tries not to focus on the fact that she is an idiot and instead focuses on the way his breathing changes when she copies his move and lightly bites the bottom of his ear. He hasn't moved his hands, and he doesn't seem to mind that she's grinding her lap against his in a very unladylike sort of way. Almost as if her hand has a mind of its own, she finds herself reaching between them and going straight for the gold. She can feel how hard he is against her, and she wants to prove it as fact to herself.

She's got her hand there for approximately three seconds before he's grabbing her wrist quickly and pulling it away. "Stop," he says seriously. "It ain't like that."

She doesn't know what he means, and she doesn't care. All she cares about is the fact that as nice as this making out is, she's done this with him countless times before and she came here for something _new. _

"Then _do _something." She doesn't mean to sound so whiney, and she doesn't mean for her hips to press down so tightly against his that he actually lets out a little groan.

His eyes are darker than usual, and she can tell by the way he's looking at her that it's all a lost cause now. She might as well just give up because he seems determined to shut her up and keep her from doing anymore groping. "Fine," he mutters, and she's on her back so quickly that she doesn't even register it until she's staring up at him. "Feel this."

Her eyes open as wide as possible when she feels his hand between her legs. She hates the way every part of her body seems to have its own brain because said legs have _definitely _slipped open without her knowledge. He's touching her there, sliding his hand over her panties and down the inside of her thighs. Just slow, smooth touches- his hand just moves from one place to the other.

She thinks she might die.

"Damn, you're easy," he whispers, and she doesn't know what he means. She also doesn't see him because her eyes have slipped shut, and she's got her head turned slightly to the side.

This is exactly what she was talking about because the second she feels his fingers slip under the elastic of her underwear, she feels things she's _never _felt before. Finn tries this sometimes, but he doesn't know what he's doing. It's more embarrassing than anything really, and the second he happens upon a spot that actually feels good, he loses it and can't find it again. The fingers against her now, though, know _exactly _where to go.

Her mind goes blissfully blank.

He isn't kissing her at all, and he's not saying a word. She can tell that he's watching her, but she can't make her eyes open to confirm. Distantly, she can hear herself making some embarrassing sort of noise, and her breath is coming in short, staggered gasps. Finally, she feels his lips back against her neck and feels his free hand slide once again up her shirt. All three sensations at once are too much, and her eyes snap open at exactly the same time her legs snap close.

As good as all this feels, it's _wrong._

He stops everything immediately and leans up a little bit to look at her. She knows he's confused, but she figures he can't possibly be more confused than _she _is. She starts to panic, and he shakes his head in question.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know what I'm doing," she mumbles, and she hates the way she misses the sensations that were just coursing through her seconds ago.

"You don't know what you're doing in _general, _or you don't know what you're doing _here?" _He raises an eyebrow at her, and she thinks he's never looked sexier than he does at this exact moment.

She doesn't know the difference between in general and here, and she can't bring herself to ask for clarification, either. Instead, she hears herself speaking words she isn't sure she wants to say. "I've never felt anything like that before." Her voice is a whisper, and she's as embarrassed as she can ever remember being, but she doesn't even know why.

"You didn't even get there," he says, and she can tell he thinks she's probably some sort of freak, and he's probably right.

Didn't even _get _there… She's never even been _close. _She can't make herself say this.

"Wait," he cuts off her thought process. "You mean, like _never?"_

She wants to die. This has all become way too real, and she doesn't think she's at a point where she's prepared to deal with it. What was she even _thinking?_

"I don't think we should do this," she says quietly, ignoring his question. "It feels really wrong."

He's off of her in a second, sitting up and moving away and putting distance between them that she _doesn't _want. She's never been so damn confused in her life. She wants to cry again, but she knows better. It isn't fair that she's cried so much already. Not to _him _anyway. He said it before.

He didn't sign up for this shit.

"Whatever," he says, and his voice is back to his normal, uncaring sort of sneer. "I was just doing it because you said-"

"I know what I said," she cuts him off. "I don't know what I was thinking. Or why I still want it…" She hears herself speak, but she can't look him in the eye. She also can't make herself sit up.

There's silence for a few seconds, and she wonders what he's thinking. She doesn't know what he's been thinking the whole time, so it's not really any different now. He finally says something, though, and she hates the way it sounds.

"Rachel, you're really starting to piss me off. I don't know what the fuck you're even doing here."

She wishes she had an answer for him, but she doesn't. She doesn't know anything at all right now except for the fact that she misses the way his fingers felt against her. She's positively terrified by this fact. No matter what now, she knows she's messed up big time.

"Will you please just finish it?" she asks softly, and she finally looks over at him. He's sitting a few inches away from her, and his face is red and serious.

"Hell no," he snaps. "I'm not into that kind of shit- you changing your mind in the middle of it. Fuck that."

She closes her eyes for a few moments and tries to get her breathing and her thoughts under control. It's much easier said than done. "I'm just confused," she admits, and she wonders why she can't just leave well enough alone already. Her brain is telling her to get up and _leave, _but her body is telling her something very different. "I just want you to finish it." She swallows. "Then that's it. And we'll just keep it a secret."

The next few minutes go by in a blur. He's furious with her, and she can tell the second he crashes his lips back to hers. She knows that it's wrong, but she can't help it. She kisses him back right away, and all the same sensations start flooding back to her.

He does as she asks. He finishes it. She thinks at several points that she might literally pass out. Her lungs stop working, her legs go numb, her brain is blank… And she finally knows what the big damn deal is. The fireworks and the stars are all there, and she's so caught up in all of it that she doesn't even notice the way he's staring at her.

Not until he kisses her in a completely different way than usual.

It's soft and gentle, and his lips just brush over hers so carefully as he whispers, "Rachel, you're fucking beautiful..." And the words sound foreign coming from him. Beautiful doesn't seem like an adjective he uses much, and the way he says it almost makes her think she imagines it because it doesn't even sound like her voice.

And then the most amazing feeling she's ever felt seems to burst through her like wildfire, and she can't do anything but let it overtake her. And when she's done and breathing so heavily she thinks her lungs might explode, she opens her eyes and finally sees the way he's looking at her.

It's enough to instantly bring her back to reality.

Trying desperately to catch her breath, she sits up, and he moves off of her. She starts readjusting herself, trying not to think about the fact that she's just felt all of _that, _and they are both still fully clothed. She even still has her _shoes _on. It doesn't seem possible. She looks to her left, and Puck isn't looking at her anymore. He's got his eyes fixed on the floor, and she doesn't know _what _the look on his face means.

"You need to go," he says quietly, and he doesn't sound pissed off or anything. He just sounds… _tired, _maybe.

She knows without question that he is right, and she is honestly surprised that her legs are able to hold her up when she stands. She doesn't know what you're supposed to say after something like that, and she's just infinitely glad that his mom is already in bed because when she catches a glimpse of herself in his mirror, she doesn't look anything like herself.

"Um, thank you," she says quietly, trying to do _anything _that might break the awkward silence that positively seems to be drowning them.

"Don't fucking thank me," he says, and his voice sounds gruffer than usual. She's a little taken aback by it because it sounds very different from the soft tone he used just a second ago. She blinks and then nods dumbly, heading for his door and anxious to get as far away from here as possible.

Just as she turns the knob, though, he says one last thing. "Hey." She turns against her better judgment and looks at him. He's still sitting in the same spot, and he runs a hand backwards over his head and then down his neck. She waits for him to say whatever he's stopped her for and she thinks for a second that he's not going to say anything. Finally, he says, "Finn's a jackass."

She doesn't know how to respond, so she just doesn't. She stands there for a second and looks at him, and then she turns away and lets herself out.

That night, she can't sleep. She spends hours lying on her back and looking up at the ceiling. She cries off and on because she doesn't know whether to regret the night's events or to be glad that now she's somehow accomplished what she set out to do.

She feels dirty. Not because she feels used or anything, but because she feels like she was the one doing the using. She doesn't know why he went along with her, but she guesses she didn't leave him much choice. Everything about it feels wrong. But so much of it just _feels._

She can't erase those feelings from her mind or the way her heart sped up when he touched her. She can't forget the way his mouth felt pressed against hers so tightly and then so softly later on. Remembering the way he whispered in her ear is _still _sending shivers through her.

But _why _did she do it? She's not that person. She's not someone who needs to get revenge or hurt the people she cares about. The whole thing has just made her feel awful.

But he made her feel _so good…_

She wakes up the next morning to her phone ringing. She's half-asleep when she glances at it and opens it, whispering a greeting into it as she tries to adjust to the morning.

"Rachel?" Finn sounds surprised that she's picked up, and she can't blame him, considering the fact that she's ignored his last seventy or so attempts. "Hey, I'm so glad you answered. I want to talk to you so bad…"

"Finn," she cuts him off, "we're okay."

And that's it. With one sentence she has just proven Mrs. Puckerman completely wrong.

She really _is _a whore.

… … …

A/N: Ahhhh…. So much drama! Hahaha, well what's life without angst? Thank you all so much for the amazing response so far. I really do appreciate every single person who has taken the time to read and review- it means a ton!


	4. Chapter 4

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

She spends the weekend with Finn. It's weird, and there's too much awkwardness around them. But he spends so much time apologizing and trying to make it right that she nearly gets tired of it. Honestly, she doesn't even know why she was so angry in the first place. The night he slept with Santana, she'd _known _where he was and who he was with. In fact, she'd _expected _them to sleep together. Santana certainly wasn't her first choice to take Finn's virginity, but she'd accepted it and had managed not to dwell on it for too long.

There's also the fact that she, too, planned to lose her virginity that very same night. Of course, she didn't go through with it. She'd like to be able to say that it was thoughts of Finn that stopped her, but it wasn't. She didn't have sex with Jesse because she didn't feel _ready. _It was not because she was waiting around on a boy who, at the time, she felt she had no chance of ever having.

But Jesse was _perfect._

As sad as that is to say, he was everything she ever thought she wanted all rolled up into one tragically beautiful mess of sweeping brown curls. If there was ever someone who seemed perfectly suited for her, it was Jesse St. James (before the eggs and all that, of course). But something stopped her from giving him everything. At the time, she thought it was nerves and anxiousness and a little bit of fear that Jesse would critique her performance and use adjectives such as "lacking" and "flawed." Months later, she believed it was fate stepping in for both she and Finn so that they could experience all of that _together. _She'd never felt so horrible in her life as when she had to confess her lie. It was horrible, and she felt sick and guilty the whole time, but she knew that if she didn't tell the truth then she would be basing a huge part of their relationship on a lie. She didn't want to be responsible for that, so she told the truth.

Finn did not.

He spends all weekend trying to explain his reasons for not taking the opportunity to confess when she did, but eventually she stops hearing them. They sound like words in her ear, but they don't connect with her brain. She finds out that while she was with his best friend on Friday night, he was being dragged to a party at Mark Hamilton's house. While he was there, he managed to get into a gigantic fight with Santana where he called her a bitch and she kicked him the balls. It's up on YouTube.

She doesn't watch it.

She doesn't even care that he went to a party while her heart was breaking. In fact, she's almost glad. At least _one _of them was drunk. She was completely sober and yet making the worst decisions of her life. Life is full of irony in all the wrong places.

She tries to distract herself from thinking. But when she looks at him, all she sees are eyes that are all one color. When she leans into him, she smells Santana's perfume. When she kisses him, she feels lips that are too soft. When he whispers to her, she hears a words that are too nice. And when he touches her, she feels fingers grasping blindly at nothing.

At 3:16 on Sunday, Puck's number flashes across her phone. She doesn't answer, and he doesn't leave a message. She deletes her call log before Finn gets out of the bathroom.

She's even less eager to go to school on Monday than she was on Friday.

Finn picks her up and drives her just like he's been doing all year. She kisses both her dads goodbye and tells them she'll see them after ballet. They tell her to enjoy her day, and they send her off like nothing's wrong. Like her whole world isn't falling apart and like she's _not _about to die from soul-eating guilt and self-disgust.

"_You are _such_ a fucking drama queen."_

His words flash in her mind before she can stop them, and she quickly does everything in her power to forget them.

A few people watch them in the parking lot, but Madison Maynard and Andrew Hotchkiss broke up on Sunday after she caught him cheating with his little sister's babysitter. Apparently that is bigger news because people seem rather bored with Finn and herself. She couldn't be more thrilled.

She makes it all the way through first period without one person asking how things are going with Finn. No one in her English class seems interested, but that could be because they spend the entire class period on a timed writing assignment that doesn't actually leave a lot of time for gossip.

This is too good to be true, of course, and Jacob Ben Israel manages to keep pace with her all the way from one end of the school to the other. She eventually throws him off by threatening to sue him via the ACLU for sexual harassment. She isn't sure what the ACLU has to do with it, but that's always where she goes first. It works and he drifts away right around the juice machine, but not before he tells her that his blog readers are anxiously awaiting the true story and that if she isn't willing to tell it, he'll invent it.

She _doesn't _want to go to Spanish, but the scheduled test doesn't leave her much choice. She feels totally unprepared, having not studied at all this weekend, but she doesn't think Mr. Schue will take, _"I spent my weekend cheating on your BFF and then lying to him," _as an adequate excuse for getting out of it.

He smiles at her when she walks into the classroom, and she tries her best to smile but. It feels forced, but her smiles often do. Without speaking to him, she goes over to her regular table and pulls out her textbook to do some of the last minute studying she should have done over the weekend. The rest of her classmates file in little by little, but she doesn't miss one who is conspicuously absent. She doesn't know whether to be relieved or concerned.

When Mr. Schuester hands out the tests, he stops at her desk and quietly asks her, "Rachel, have you seen Puck?"

No one is paying attention to them. They're all talking amongst themselves or trying to cram a few last minute vocabulary words into their brains. It doesn't stop the half-panicked tone of her voice, though. "No. Why would I?"

Mr. Schue looks at her strangely and raises his eyebrows a little bit. "I just didn't know if you'd talked to him. He's not on the absentee list."

"I don't talk to him," she says firmly. "Not unless I'm forced."

Obviously this is a lie. And Mr. Schuester knows it is a lie. She and Puck are by no means enemies or even frenemies. They talk occasionally. They aren't best friends, but it's not as if they go out of their way to avoid each other. Still, she feels more comfortable pretending they've resorted back to a couple of years ago. Regardless of whether he knows it's a lie, though, Mr. Schue just moves on, handing out the rest of the papers and then going over a few instructions.

And then the class is silent.

The test isn't all that difficult. She's not sure she missed much by not studying, as she knows most of the answers without even thinking too hard. When she's about halfway through the exam, though, the classroom door opens, and everyone inside looks up to see Puck enter. He's late again, and he doesn't seem to have any better excuse today than he did before. He offers up another shrug, but Mr. Schue looks seriously pissed this time. He thrusts a test at him and gives him a look that clearly says he better have a good excuse.

Rachel keeps her eyes fixed on her paper. She is not going to look at him. She isn't going to acknowledge him or even be aware of his presence. It turns out to be an easy accomplishment, as he simply sits down at his usual table with the Cheerios and doesn't even glance her way.

She doesn't see him the rest of the day, either. He's missing from the cafeteria at lunch, and she doesn't see him loitering in his usual spots in the hallway. She is infinitely thankful for this, of course, because she isn't at all prepared to actually look him in the eye or anything. She isn't worried about him telling her secret, but she's afraid her face will tell everything if she's forced to be around him. She can't shake the dirty feeling she has, and she doesn't want it to be evident for the rest of the world to see.

She stays in the library after school while Finn is at football practice, and she waits until he calls her and tells her he's in the car before she joins him the parking lot. He takes her to ballet and actually tries to figure out his chemistry homework while she's in class. When she's finished, he hugs her to his side and then takes her home. She invites him in, and they have dinner with her dads, and she's very grateful that her parents do not question him about the lie she confessed on his behalf. They seem to trust her judgment enough to believe that if she is alright with the situation then it must be fine. They treat him no differently than they ever have, and when he leaves, she hears, "It's really good that you gave him a chance to explain," before she heads up to bed to stare aimlessly at her ceiling.

Santana doesn't show up to glee on Tuesday. Brittany informs everyone that she has a cold and went home. She then wonders out loud why they call it a cold, "If you run a fever, shouldn't they call it a hot?" Everyone ignores her. Rachel is glad that Santana is sick, as awful as that sounds. If it means that she doesn't have to listen to her sneering or watch her perma-evil eye, then it's got to be a good thing.

Everyone else is there, though, and she reads the same piece of sheet music six times while Finn and Puck laugh at something in the corner with Mike and Matt. Mr. Schuester has been struck with what he obviously assumes is a brilliant idea to split them up into dance groups to see who can come up with the best original choreography to match the New Kids on the Block tribute he's suddenly been inspired to do.

It's Mike versus Brittany in a schoolyard pick for teams, and Rachel can't help but roll her eyes at little bit. She doesn't know why they are wasting time with things like this when they have Sectionals in just a couple of months. She bites her tongue, though, and sits in her chair totally prepared to be picked last in the popularity contest that this will inevitably turn out to be. Surprisingly, though, she actually gets picked third. Apparently Mike and Brittany are willing to base this on actual talent and not on who they are friends with.

This hardly matters, though, as the teams still end up being ridiculous. She doesn't know how it's fair to base a contest based purely on dance choreography when one of the members of her team is in a _wheelchair. _Still, she supposes that they're still slightly better off than the other team, which has Finn. She's secretly glad that Brittany has clearly decided to make herself and Matt the stars of the routine because she isn't at all in the mood to be doing this, and she doesn't want to have to try that hard. The idea of _not _trying at something is strange to her, but she can't force herself into caring.

Her team is sent to the auditorium to rehearse, while the other team gets to use the choir room. Britt is beside herself thrilled that she gets to do this, and the sweet ditzy little girl disappears and is replaced with something of a Dance Nazi. Rachel's expectation to stand in the back and do a few step touches is killed instantly when Brittany starts ordering around the whole team and blocking out a routine that is clearly more fit for the Cheerios than it is for a few semi-talented dancers and a boy in a wheelchair.

Of course, it turns into a disaster.

Matt is apparently not up to the caliber of what she expects in a male lead, and she lets him know this by threatening to replace him with Artie. Artie, meanwhile, tells Brittany that he should probably just sit out anyway to make the teams even in Santana's absence, and she screams at him that if he quits, she'll slice his tires. Mercedes tells her that she's gone "whack" and that she's, quote, "turning into Rachel!" Rachel just stands with her arms crossed and watches the disaster that is supposed to be Mercedes attempting a series of chaine turns and doesn't even attempt to mask her smugness.

When Mercedes trips, Brittany literally puts her hands over her face and screams.

It would be funny if it wasn't so terrifying…

The entire group is stunned into silence for approximately thirty seconds as they all attempt to process what's happening. It's Puck who breaks the silence. "Why is she doing it anyway? Rachel's the one who does that ballet shit, make her do it."

It's the first time he's acknowledged her existence in two days.

Brittany sighs loudly. "I need Rachel to do something else, but… You're just going to have to do both," she tells her flatly.

Then it's _Rachel's _turn to sigh. "Brittany, what are chaine turns doing in the middle of 'Hangin' Tough' anyway? This doesn't make any sense." Brittany literally looks close to tears, so Rachel shakes her head. "Fine. Just tell me what you want me to do."

It turns out that what Brittany _wants _her to do is to end that series of chaine turns in a Russian lift with Puck.

"No," she says flatly. "That is not safe. He has no idea what he's doing, and I am not putting myself in danger for some silly dance routine!"

This is true. He does _not _know what he's doing. Without proper knowledge of the lift, he could potentially cause her to be badly injured. The latest crack-pipe idea to enter Mr. Schue's brain is _not _going to be the cause of her broken neck or damaged back. No. She is not budging.

She also does not particularly want him to touch her. She leaves this part out.

Puck makes some comment about how she needs to stop worrying about him and how he can handle himself and a bunch of other crap that makes absolutely no sense. Brittany pretends that she doesn't hear her apparently and goes straight into showing Puck how to perform the lift, bravely (stupidly) offering up herself as a test dummy with Matt's spotting help. Rachel watches them and is relatively surprised when he actually follows directions and doesn't do anything that might cause Brittany permanent damage or anything.

And somehow Rachel finds herself in a corner of the stage alone with him while Brittany and Matt try to figure out something for Artie and Mercedes to do.

"If you drop me, I'll sue you," she says seriously. "I'll sue you. And Mr. Schuester. And the school. And the district. And-"

"If you don't shut up, I'll fucking drop your ass on purpose."

She believes him, so she shuts up.

They don't really talk too much while they experiment with the lift. He's surprisingly capable, and his stature and strength actually make him a sort of ideal base. She's still terrified, though, and squeezes her eyes tight every time her feet leave the ground. She does not think at all about the way his hands feel on her skin because if she does, she might very well be the cause of her own injury. Then she'd have to sue her parents.

After their fifth attempt, though, he puts her back on the ground and then pops his fingers against his side. "So, how're things in paradise?" he asks, and his tone is far more nonchalant than his face.

Rachel doesn't know why she's so bothered by the question, but she finds it suddenly difficult to keep eye contact with him. "It's really none of your concern," she says quietly.

"You gonna tell him your dirty little secret like a good girlfriend?"

She knows no one is listening to them or could hear even if they were, but that doesn't stop her glaring at him and shushing him. "No, I am not going to tell him!" she hisses. "And neither are you!"

Puck rolls his eyes. "Right. Because I need another ass-kicking, right?" She doesn't say anything. He watches her watch the floor for a few seconds and then says, "So why'd you decide to forgive and forget?"

She doesn't want to have this conversation with him. In fact, he is the _last _person she wants to have this conversation with, and she tells him so. "It hasn't got anything to do with you, so you should really just stay out of our business."

He leans in far too close to her and whispers in the most ridiculous voice she's ever heard. "Baby, I'm pretty sure I _am _your business now."

If she wasn't afraid of the scene she'd draw, she would slap him.

"Shut up," she says seriously.

He looks pleased with himself for drawing a visible reaction. "So what was it?" he asks again. "Did he cry and beg forgiveness?"

"It's none of your business."

"He totally cried."

"I _love _him." She surprises even herself with the way she finally loses her patience and blurts it out. She can't stand the way he seems intent on tormenting her. She's had it, and she thinks she's about thisclose to actually losing it.

He doesn't say anything at first. He just looks at her, and the smugness seems to be missing. She doesn't know what that means, but she doesn't have time to figure it out because he gets over it a second later and rolls his eyes carelessly.

"Whatever. Have fun with the little web of lies thing you guys have going on. Seems like an awful lot of bullshit to put up with, if you ask me."

"I _didn't _ask you," she snaps. "I don't _care _what you think!" She keeps her voice low but her tone sharp.

Brittany interrupts them before he can reply. She asks to see the lift, and they do it for her without looking at or speaking to each other.

They don't speak to each other for the rest of rehearsal.

He drops her once. She doesn't know if it's an accident or not.

That night, she spends extra time on the treadmill in an attempt to burn off some of her excess tension. She puts her iPod on shuffle and turns it up to full volume as she sets the treadmill to a slight incline and focuses on nothing but the running and the music. It works so well that she doesn't even notice her parents going to bed, nor does she hear her phone when it buzzes from its place on the basement pool table. Finally, her body gives out on her, and she has no choice but to stop.

She downs an entire bottle of water as she wraps up her iPod and goes to pick up her towel and phone from the place on the pool table where she's left them. She sees the phone lit up, and she's got two missed calls from Finn and three from Puck. She ignores those and calls her boyfriend.

"Hey!" he says, picking up on the first ring. She normally hates when he doesn't answer the phone properly, but she finds herself not caring at the moment. He sounds far too eager to speak with her, and she thinks she should probably find that endearing. She isn't sure if she does.

"Hey. I was running, I didn't hear my phone."

"You sound out of breath."

_No shit, Sherlock._

She cringes the second the thought enters her mind. It sounds entirely too much like someone she'd rather forget at the moment.

"Yeah, I'm pretty tired."

"Oh." He sounds disappointed, and she feels a little bad. "Well, you should probably go to bed then."

"No, it's fine." She forces herself not to roll her eyes as she heads up the basement stairs. "What's up?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking about you and was wondering what you were up to."

She smiles despite herself. "Not a lot," she says, heading straight for another bottle of water once she's makes it upstairs and into the kitchen. "I feel like I'm about to pass out right now!"

She notices then that the house is quiet and that the lights are off in the living room. Her dads are already in bed, and when she glances at the clock on the microwave, she sees that it's 10:26.

"Yeah, me either. Mom's on a date, and there's like nothing on TV but some little midget dude and some pit bulls. It's dumb." His mom is still dating Kurt's dad, but after their brief attempt at cohabitating, they decided it would be best for all involved if they just pulled back and took things more slowly. Finn and his mom moved back into their house, and it's just the two of them and occasionally Rachel. She loves his mom.

"Did you finish your homework?" She leans against the kitchen counter and rests the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she undoes the lid to the bottle.

"I did some of it." She rolls her eyes but can't help smiling a little bit. She finds his cluelessness a little charming, though she can't openly admit that and risk being a bad influence.

"If you're so bored, you should do your homework. It's not optional, you know."

She hears him laugh at the same time she hears someone knocking on her front door.

She panics a little at first because it's late, and people never come over at this hour. They especially don't show up unannounced. Her brain goes into overdrive thinking of who it could be- a murderer, a robber, a lost child, a hungry monk who can't find his way back to the monastery, a vampire… When she tiptoes into the living room and peeks around the corner to the window, she doesn't see any of those things. Instead, she sees a beat-up truck parked at the road by her driveway.

"Finn, my dads are awake because I'm making too much noise. I have to go. Bye."

She hangs up without waiting for his response and practically runs to the door before unlocking it and opening it before he can knock again and _actually _wake up her parents.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, keeping her voice quiet as she glares at him.

His hand is raised mid-knock, and he smiles at her. "Hello to you, too."

She doesn't bother getting rid of the glare. Instead, she glances behind her to make sure that her parents haven't woken up, and then she pushes him away from the door and steps out onto the porch with him, shutting the door quietly behind her.

"What do you want?"

"You weren't answering the phone, so I thought maybe you were dead and decided to come over and investigate."

"Leave me alone."

"You look like shit, you know that, right?"

He stares her up and down, and she realizes that she's still dressed from her workout and dripping in sweat. She glances down at her shorts and suddenly feels more self-conscious in those than she ever does in her skirts.

"I don't have anyone to impress!" she snaps, narrowing her eyes at him.

He ignores her. "Come with me."

"What? Come with you where?" She realizes how stupid this sounds, so she shakes her head quickly and says, "I'm not going anywhere with you!"

"You don't even know where we're going."

She has a feeling that this is all some game to him because he seems especially antagonizing. Even for him.

"_We're _not going anywhere! _I'm _going back inside, and you're going… I don't care where the hell you go, but you're not staying here!"

She turns and starts to leave, but he catches her elbow. "You're really rude to your guests, you know?"

"_You _are not a guest. You are an annoying imbecile."

"Just come with me, and I'll forget your bad hospitality skills."

"I am not sneaking out with you in the middle of the night!"

"It's not the mid…" He rolls his eyes. "It's ten o'clock!"

"10:30," she answers stubbornly.

He's still got his hand on her arm. "You really think avoiding me is just going to make you forget all about it?" The condescending tone is gone, and he sounds oddly serious. "That's not how the world works."

"I don't need to forget it," she says, and she hopes her tone doesn't betray her. "As far as I'm concerned, nothing happened. Now leave me alone."

He finally lets go of her arm, and she doesn't notice the burning of her skin until he's stopped. "You never told me how he did it."

"Leave me alone, Puck," she says lowly, avoiding eye contact and not thinking about the fact that she calls him by his nickname. She never does that. Not out loud anyway. It's a stupid name, and she thinks it makes him sound stupid.

"I just don't get why you care so damn much," he says, and she hates the way he sounds all serious now. She wishes he'd go back to being a cocky ass. "I mean, like, what does it even matter if he lied to you? Or if you lie to him? That shit's not going to change anything. I mean, fuck, this is _high school. _None of this shit's even going to matter in two years!"

"I don't even know what you're talking about."

"High school, Rachel. It doesn't fucking _matter," _he draws the last sentence out slowly and pointedly.

"_What _doesn't matter?" Honestly, she doesn't even know why she's entertaining this conversation. It's going nowhere, and it means nothing. None of this means anything. She wants to go to bed.

"Who you're with or why you're with them. You act like Finn broke your fucking heart or something. You're sixteen!"

She is highly offended by that statement, and she doesn't waste any time in telling him. "You don't know anything about my heart. Just because you're fully incapable of processing any emotion that doesn't involve your penis doesn't mean that other people can't actually _feel _things!"

She pretends like she didn't just say the word penis.

"It's all stupid. It's too much goddamn drama. Bullshit. Why are you even wasting your time letting your heart be broken? It's _stupid."_

"It doesn't have anything to do with you, so I don't even know why you care!" She hears her voice rise, and she can tell that she's about to lose it.

"Whatever." He shrugs carelessly. "Be with him. Don't be with him. It doesn't fucking matter. You're not going to stay together." She glares at him, but he cuts her off before she can even open her mouth. "Nobody stays together. Fucking _married _people don't stay together! And the ones that do, cheat on their husbands- trust me, I know."

She doesn't even want to think about how disgusting that is. Instead, she just gives up and looks at him. "Why do you even care?"

And the next thing she comprehends is that his lips are pressed against hers and that she's not even trying to push him away. In fact, she lets him back her up to the door, and then she kisses him back. It's possibly even better than the last time they kissed, and she hates herself for even thinking that. She hates herself more for moving her hands up to the side of his head and pulling him even closer as he grips her waist and keeps her perfectly pinned between his body and the wood of the door. And it feels so _good. _But when he pulls away suddenly and takes a full step back, she's stunned for only a second before doing what she wanted to do earlier.

She slaps him.

He stares at her, clearly not affected in the least by her weak slap. She thinks he probably didn't even feel it. She kind of hates him. But mostly she just hates herself. He doesn't say anything, and she doesn't expect him to. She pushes every thought out of her head except the one that says she has a boyfriend. That's the one she keeps repeating over and over to herself. It's not about Noah. It's not about Puck. It's about _Finn._

"Go away." She speaks quietly and avoids eye contact as she turns around and lets herself back into the house, locking the door behind her. She stands there not moving for what seems like ages, and then she finally hears his truck pull away.

Then she slumps against the door and slides to the floor, crying the whole way.

The next day at school, he doesn't show up for Spanish at all. Mr. Schuester doesn't ask her if she's talked to him, and she's glad for it. She doesn't care where he is. It doesn't matter.

Finn meets up with her after most of her classes, and they have lunch together like usual. He tells her some stupid stories about things that have happened throughout the day, but she barely listens. She tries to fake attentiveness, but it's hard because he's so into her and she is nothing but a slut. Looking at his big brown eyes and goofy smile don't give her the same sense of security that they used to. All she sees in them is betrayal.

But it's not his betrayal she sees anymore. It's her own.

She calls her dad and asks him to pick her up after school. She doesn't think she can sit through football practice today. She tells Finn that she's tired, and he kisses her and tells her to go rest and to call him later if she's awake. She smiles weakly and starts to head for the parking lot.

On the way, she passes a letterman jacket and a Cheerios uniform intertwined with each other. The people wearing them are apparently trying to suck each other's tonsils out. It's disgusting.

It's not the gross display of public affection that makes her feel sick to her stomach, though.

"Oh, my god," Santana says with fake cheeriness as she pulls her tongue away long enough to make a statement. "Is there a TLC crew here?"

Rachel stares at her blankly. She should walk away. She knows she should. Her feet won't move.

"I didn't know the new season of Retardlers and Tiaras was filming here!"

Santana flashes a bright smile, and Puck actually snorts before he laughs and grins appreciatively at the one girl he always goes back to no matter what.

And there's all the proof Rachel needs- in one sentence, and even more, in one _laugh- _she is the biggest fool in the world.

… … …

A/N: Again, thank you all so much for all the reviews! They really make my day!


	5. Chapter 5

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

She doesn't know why she goes to his house.

She's done a good job all week of avoiding him, and other than a few necessary words exchanged during glee and their Tuesday night charade on her front porch, they haven't even acknowledged each other. He's spent the last few days thoroughly tangled up in Santana, and she has focused all of her attention on Finn in an effort to make herself feel less guilty.

It hasn't exactly worked.

She certainly has no idea what comes over her and makes her get in her dad's car and drive the three miles to his house. She really doesn't know what causes her to turn off the car and actually get out. And she can't come up with any logical reason as to why she is standing at his front door ringing the doorbell.

She thinks there's a slight chance no one is home. His truck is parked in the driveway, but his mom's car is gone. There's always the possibility that maybe they've all gone out for lunch or something. This possibility is crushed when she hears the door unlocking and looks down to see his little sister smiling up at him.

"Hi, Rachel!" she says excitedly, pulling the door open further and motioning her inside.

Rebekah is nice in a way that her brother never has been. Rachel knows her well enough- as well as she knows any nine year old. The Lima Jewish community is a small one, and there are only so many families involved.

"Hey, Bekah," she says, faking the best smile she can. "Is your brother here?"

Bekah shrugs. "I think he's upstairs. Can you help me?"

Rachel doesn't possibly know what help is required, but she doesn't want to be rude. She carries on with the fake smile and nods.

"Will you listen to my piece and tell me what's wrong with it? It doesn't sound right." She leads her into the dining room and sits down at the piano, turning her sheet music back to the first as she carefully plunks out the first few notes of "O Sole Mio." She's frowning as she plays, and Rachel sits down beside her when she suddenly stops.

"It's good," she tells her. "Your tempo is a little off, though. You're counting it too slowly." She helps by tapping out the correct tempo with her foot and nodding her head toward the piano where Rebekah once again starts to play. It flows more smoothly this time, and she smiles at her before placing her own hands on the key and playing along with her. They're about halfway through the song when they hear a voice from the other room.

"Hey, that sounds really good!"

Maybe, perhaps, it's the very first time Rachel has ever heard a compliment come out of his mouth. She's especially surprised to hear him saying something so nice and directing at his little sister who he normally treats like a disease he can't rid himself of. Of course, she knows that's all an act and that deep down, he really loves his sister more than anything. When he enters the room and sees that she's not playing alone, though, his eyes narrow a little bit.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Noah, that's rude," Rebekah says and stifles a yawn.

He ignores her, of course, and keeps his eyes on Rachel who suddenly feels extremely awkward and out of place. She thinks for a second to find the right answer and then just says, "I just wanted to talk."

"About what?"

Rachel glances at the little girl beside her who is watching the conversation closely. "About school," she lies, knowing that he doesn't believe her for a second.

He locks eyes with her for a second and then turns his attention back to his sister, snapping, "You know you're not supposed to let people in the house."

She just shrugs. "It's Rachel. Mom won't care."

Puck looks pissed off by this, but he swings his head toward the stairs anyway, and Rachel takes that as an invitation to follow him. She's not entirely sure going back to the scene of the crime is the smartest move, but little people have big ears… And she doesn't need his sister hearing this.

He goes straight for his bed when they get upstairs, falling down on his back heavily. There's nowhere else to sit, so she stands and tries not to feel as weird as she really does.

"I thought you weren't supposed to have girls up here?"

He shrugs. "Obviously my mom doesn't care about you."

"She trusts me too much." Rachel looks down at the floor guiltily.

Puck, though, just kind of looks amused. "You really think she gives a fuck? She just likes your nose."

"What?" Rachel unconsciously raises a hand to her nose and has no idea what he's talking about. He just shrugs again and shakes his head, indicating that he's not explaining.

"So, what the fuck?" he asks, changing the subject and moving one hand behind his head as he looks up at her from his place on the bed.

She swallows, wondering why she ever thought this was a good idea. It doesn't matter now, though. "I just wanted to apologize," she says quietly. He stares at her. "This whole thing was my fault, and I'm sorry I got you mixed up in it."

She has never been above apologizing when it was needed, but the words taste especially nasty when directed at him. She isn't sure why, and she doesn't try to figure it out.

He watches her for a few seconds and then shrugs carelessly. "Whatever. You think I care way more than I actually do."

This frustrates her, and she wants to tell him that she _knows _he cares because he's the one who couldn't just leave well enough alone in the first place. She isn't ready to admit the irony of it, though, seeing as how she is (once again) standing in his bedroom.

"I just wanted to say that," she says stiffly, ignoring the rest of the things she wants to say. "You can accept the apology or don't. I don't care."

He just shrugs one shoulder.

She rolls her eyes. There's no good reason in her head for why she even came here today. She turns around and starts to leave, but he stops her.

"That's it? I don't even get tears? Or a kiss? Or a slap? What're you even doing here then?"

She turns around and wants to yell at him. Instead, she says, "I'm sorry I hit you. I don't condone violence, and it was wrong. I don't know what came over me." The words sound as dull as they sound.

Puck, though, just snorts. "Like you're the first girl to hit me…"

"Right. Santana does seem rather violent."

She doesn't know where it comes from, and the second she's said it, she wants to put it back in and forget it. Even bringing up that slut's name makes her feel ill, and she's sure it makes her sound more than a little spiteful.

She's right on the last count at least. Puck sits up and smirks at her. It's annoying. "You sound jealous."

"I am _not _jealous," she scoffs, her hands immediately flying to her hips in defense. "And what reason would have for trying to _make _me jealous in the first place?"

"I didn't say I was trying to make you jealous." He's still smirking. "I just said you _sounded_ that way."

She refuses to take the bait. "Excuse me, I just happen to think your girlfriend is a vile excuse for a human being. That's all."

"Whoa. Satan is _not _my girlfriend, let's get that straight right now."

"Oh, really?" She ignores the fact that calling her Satan is actually kind of clever. And fitting. "You've certainly been wrapped pretty tightly with her for the past few days."

"She's not my girlfriend," he repeats again. "She's just… my girl."

"And there's a difference?"

"A big one."

She wants to throw something at him, and she can't understand how he always manages to get her so worked up all the time. It's so frustrating that can barely even stand it.

"You always go back to her." She wishes she didn't sound as strange as she does.

Puck rolls his eyes and pops his neck. It's disgusting. "Look, she's one of the only chick's in the world I can tolerate on a regular basis. Because, you know, she's like totally badass and awesome and fucking hilarious. But she's sure as hell not my _girlfriend. _She's like psychotic as shit."

"You were calling her a bitch a week ago. Now she's… your _girl." _She throws his words back at him, but he seems totally nonplussed.

"She is a bitch. But whatever. I mean, she's Santana."

Rachel has no idea what any of this means, nor does she know why she's so upset by it. "I think she's a _slut."_

He just shrugs.

"So are you with her or not?" she asks, moving her hands from her waist to cross her arms.

"I already told you I'm not _with _anyone. Santana and me are just whatever. Why do you care so damn much anyway?"

He's challenging her, and she feels her mouth go dry as she searches her mind for a good response. She's interrupted, though, when his phone starts buzzing, and he leans over to his nightstand to check it. He reads whatever text message is there and then gets up and goes over to his window. She watches him until he pushes past her and shoves his phone into her hand.

"Finn's here."

She feels her heart stop as she looks down at the phone and reads the text.

"_Brat won't let me in. WTF is Rach doing here?"_

Puck is already down the stairs when her feet remember how to move, and she runs after him. She reaches the bottom just as he's glaring at his sister and saying, "What the fuck?"

"You said I'm not supposed to let people in." She answers with a bored expression before she goes back to watching _iCarly._

He ignores her and answers the door. Finn is standing there looking pretty pissed off. Rachel looks at him and tries her best to offer up a totally innocent smile.

His question is identical to Puck's, only it's directed at Rachel and not at Rebekah. "What the fuck?"

"We had to work on choreography. Brittany really wants to win," she lies quickly. It's the first thing that pops into her head, and she prays he doesn't choose today to grow a brain and see through it.

"I've been calling you for an hour." Finn pushes his way into the living room, and Puck shuts the door behind him.

It occurs to Rachel suddenly that she left the house without her purse. She drove all the way over here with no license! "I accidentally left it at home." She tries not to show her panic over the whole no license thing because she doesn't want them to make fun of her. "I'm sorry." She smiles at him, and it seems to work because he doesn't seem all that pissed off. It bothers her sometimes how easy he really is.

"Finn, _move!" _Rebekah whines, craning her neck to try to see around him. He's standing right in front of the TV.

He glares at her and moves so that even when she cranes, she can't see around him. "You almost broke my finger when you slammed the door!"

She just shrugs. "Noah said I can't let anyone in the house."

"I said people, idiot," Puck snaps. "Not Finn."

Finn shoots her another glare for good measure. Then he gets his normalcy back. "Wanna play CoD?"

Puck shrugs and grabs the remote from his sister. "Move."

Rebekah pouts, crosses her arms, and doesn't budge. Both boys reach for her at the same time, and she immediately kicks out at them in defense, catching Finn right in the chin with her foot. He grabs at his mouth instinctively and then smacks her across the back of the head.

The boys sprawl out on the couch the second they've got her up, effectively cutting off her chance of regaining her spot. She looks close to tears, and Rachel feels sorry for her. She wonders if the poor kid has put up with this her whole life.

"I'm telling Mom!" Rebekah says angrily, crossing her arms and staring them down.

"Fuck off." Puck kicks out at her, and she jumps out of the way.

Rachel guesses she _has _dealt with this forever…

"I hate you both _so _much." Rebekah shoots them one last glare and stomps off toward the stairs.

"Why do you guys have to be so mean to her?" Rachel asks.

Puck says, "Because she deserves it," at exactly the same time Finn says, "Because she's a brat."

"Maybe if you were nicer to her, she wouldn't act that way."

They both ignore her. Finn switches the TV from Nickelodeon to the proper gaming mode, and Puck gets up to set the game. She watches them for a second before sighing loudly. "I need to go home."

"No, stay," Finn says quickly, grabbing her hand and pulling her down until she falls halfway on his lap and halfway into the little space between his body and the armrest. He kisses her quickly and smiles at her, and instead of getting up and leaving like she should, she fits herself more properly into the space and lets him move her legs so that she's turned sideways and they're draped over his lap. When Puck comes back over and throws a controller at Finn, he sits down on her feet and doesn't even apologize.

And that's how she spends her Sunday- watching the two of them play some ridiculously violent and mindless game that they're _far_ too involved in. It's terrible for her, of course, because all she can think about is how easily they both act like everything's fine. Like the past year never happened. Like there was never a pregnant teenager that came between them. They should hate each other, but they don't. They're best friends, and she just did it to them _again _(minus the pregnant part)_. _She's a terrible person. Eventually, she gets bored and goes to Bekah's room to watch a couple of episodes of _Hannah Montana, _and then she curls the younger girl's hair and paints her nails and toes. It's fun. She wishes she had a little sister. If she did, she'd treat her a lot better than Puck and Finn treat this one.

When Bekah tells her she's a lot nicer (and prettier) than Quinn, it makes her feel better than it should.

The next morning at school, things are a little easier. Puck doesn't outright avoid her, and he even goes back to teasing her and picking on her. It's not the malicious teasing, either- it's the fun, nice, you're my best friend's girlfriend teasing. Like normal. He grabs her for a partner in Spanish when they have to pair up, and he throws his books at her before football practice and tells her to "watch his shit." It's _normal._

The next afternoon, they're in glee, getting in some last minute dance rehearsals before they have to perform. Things are going more smoothly now, and Brittany's insane vision doesn't look all that crazy when it's put together and actually performed. She doesn't know if they'll beat Mike's team, but she saw Finn practicing his pop and lock and thinks they've probably got a pretty good shot.

Britt is with Matt going over their own set of stunts, and Mercedes and Artie have gone down to the cafeteria to get everyone some water. Rachel's left alone with Puck, and they sit down backstage together to take a rest and watch Brittany be completely amazing onstage. She really _is _very talented.

They talk about nothing- just stupid stuff. Spanish, school, glee. They don't talk about anything that has happened in the past week, and it feels very normal. She thinks that maybe they can just forget that it ever happened and go back to being whatever they were before- maybe sort of almost friends.

But then he tells her that her hair is sticking up, and when he takes it upon himself to fix it, he doesn't take his hand back. And even though she knows better, she looks over at him and her breath catches by itself when she sees the way he's staring at her. She hates, _hates, _that he can do that- just look at her and make her forget her own name. In the back of her head, she wonders how he perfected that look because there are no other teenagers she knows who have it.

"Your eyes look really green right now." She doesn't know why she says anything- much less _that. _She sure as hell doesn't know why she says it in _that _voice.

He stares at her for a second, and then his eyes (so damn _green) _flicker over to the piece of hair that was out of place. "I fixed it," he says quietly, but he doesn't move his hand.

When his eyes move back to hers, she thinks she might forget how to breathe for a second. She doesn't know what the hell is wrong with her, and even though every nerve cell in her body seems to be standing on end, she focuses all of her energy on remembering- _knowing-_this is wrong. But she doesn't look away. She doesn't get up and go back to join the land of the living. She just sits there in the wings and stares at him.

It isn't until his lips brush against hers that she moves at all.

It's just a tiny kiss. Much tinier than any of the other ones they've shared. But it's still a kiss. And she still doesn't get up. She just turns her head away and looks out to the stage where Brittany and Matt are still dancing and Artie and Mercedes are still missing.

"There are too many people around," she says quietly. It's not what she means to say. She _means_ to say, _"I have a boyfriend, don't kiss me," _but it doesn't come out like that.

"Come over tonight."

She doesn't look at him and he barely whispers the words, but she hears them just fine. She keeps her eyes focused straight in front of her, knowing that if she looks over and sees him staring at her that she's going to do something _very _stupid. It's stupid enough that she doesn't outright tell him _no. _She tries to, but for some reason, those two letters won't form on her tongue.

She's saved from answering by the sound of the auditorium doors opening. "Water was out, so we had to get juice," Artie calls from the back, and Rachel takes the opportunity to stand up and join the others on the stage as Mercedes hands her a bottle of grape juice. She purposely doesn't look back toward the wings, nor does she look up when Puck finally decides to join the group. It's just easier.

They perform first, and they do pretty well. The other team claps for them and laughs when Brittany takes over and does the entire second half of the routine as a solo. Then they take their seats and watch the others perform. It's good, too, and they all cheer for each other and have fun. Even though Rachel thinks these sort of assignments are nothing but time wasters, it is nice to just relax and have fun as a team sometimes, considering most of the time there's always some drama that's coming right through the middle of them.

When everyone's done, Mr. Schue calls it a tie, and they all go back to the choir room in relatively good moods. Brittany seems bothered that she didn't actually get to _win, _but she seems to cheer up a little bit when Mike's got his arm around her telling her how awesome she is. Finn walks with Rachel, telling her some story about geography as he grabs what's left of her juice and finishes it off. He bumps shoulders with her when he sees she's not really listening (really, it's more elbow to shoulder- he's a _lot _taller than her), and when she looks up at him, he gives her one of those smiles she loves. And she returns it.

People are already taking their seats in the choir room, and Rachel immediately spots Santana, standing up and literally _straddling _the chair that Puck's in as she twists sideways and both lifts up her shirt and pushes down her skirt to show him something on her hip. Rachel can't tell what it is, but she hopes it's a brown recluse bite and not a hickey. When Mr. Schuester calls them to order, Santana stops showing off her hip but doesn't take a chair. Instead, she sits on the floor right between Puck's knees and rests her head on his thigh. He spends the rest of rehearsal playing with her hair and running a finger up and down her neck to make her giggle.

Rachel pretends not to watch.

After practice, she goes home with Finn. His mom isn't home, and they spend the night doing exactly what they _always _do when his mom isn't home. She hears her phone beep a few times. She knows who it is, and she isn't answering.

Later, he orders them vegan pizza and doesn't even complain. They share the last can of pop in the fridge, and even though she normally doesn't drink it, she makes an exception because he's so sweet to offer. They watch _Dancing with the Stars, _and she curls up beside him on the sofa and wraps both arms around his waist. He pulls a blanket over them, and she beams up at him.

"I love you," she says, and then she leans up to kiss him. She thinks she means it. She's nearly positive she does. This is what she's always wanted. _He's _what she's always wanted.

His mom comes home a little before nine, steals a piece of pizza, and settles in to watch the end of the show with them. She and Rachel playfully argue over who is hotter- Derek or Maks, and Finn rolls his eyes. It's sort of perfect, and Rachel feels happy and at home here.

And that makes it a little easier.

Spanish the next morning is not a good experience. She finds a note flicked onto her book about halfway through class that reads, _"Glad you ignored me all night?" _She doesn't reply, nor does she even look over and make eye contact. She can feel him staring at her all through class, though, and it makes her both heady and more than a little uncomfortable.

She tries to make a clean escape right after class, but he catches her and keeps pace with her the whole way down the hallway. He talks lowly into her ear, and even though neither of them look at each other or make any sort of contact whatsoever, they both understand.

"I told you to come over because I wanted to talk to you. You're fucking up your life left and right, and you just think you can keep pulling me down with you. Fuck that. I'm done with your shit."

When he's finished with his piece, he turns down a side hallway and disappears. She just clutches her bag more tightly and hurries to her class. She immediately wipes away the one tear that falls.

He glares at her all through lunch. She doesn't need to look over to know this- she's apparently at a point where she just _knows _what his stare feels like. He's sitting with Santana and Brittany and a couple of other Cheerios. She's sitting with Finn and some of his other friends. It's not unusual for Puck not to be there- he always just sits wherever he feels like it. She wishes he felt like eating in a different state.

Or maybe a different continent.

She's in chemistry when she feels her phone vibrate in her bag. She doesn't usually receive texts or calls during the day because everyone she speaks with is either at school with her or at work. She checks it because it's unusual and because she's worried that something bad might have happened and that her parents are trying to get in touch with her. As inconspicuously as possible, she pulls the phone out of her bag and flips it open behind her textbook.

"_Come outside."_

It's from Puck, and she immediately snaps her phone shut and focuses her attention back to the whiteboard where Mr. Pendleton is writing out a particularly difficult equation. Ten minutes pass, and then her phone buzzes again. She tries to keep herself from checking it, but she can't help it. She opens it up and instantly feels like she might vomit.

"_I'm telling Finn."_

Without thinking, Rachel shoves her book into her bag, grabs her phone, and walks toward the front, mumbling some lie about being sick to the teacher. The second she hits the hallway, she literally breaks into a run toward the parking lot. She sees him there, in his truck. She doesn't even hesitate, just goes to it, opens the door, and climbs into the cab beside him.

They don't say a word to each other when he starts driving. He stares ahead at the road with both hands clutching the steering wheel too tightly. She looks down at her lap and tries not to be so scared. Truthfully, she's terrified- both because she's skipping school for the first time in her life and because she feels a little bit like she's being voluntarily kidnapped.

"Where are we going?" she finally asks because judging by the things they're passing, they're on their way out of town.

She glances over at him and sees him grip the steering wheel even more tightly. His knuckles are turning white. "I don't know."

"Please don't tell him," she says quietly, still watching him from the corner of her eye. She can't bring herself to look all the way over at him. If she does, she'll just get lost in the way his profile is perfect and start focusing on things like the fact that his current scowl has his jaw locked and even more defined than usual. These are things she can notice now. She doesn't need to see them full on.

Puck doesn't say anything. He just keeps driving until he finally pulls into some random parking lot and stops, jerking the key backwards in the ignition to stop the truck after he slams it into park. Rachel doesn't know where they are. Whatever was here in this parking lot before is long gone, and there's nothing now but cracked pavement and the remnants of a crumbling sidewalk.

This looks like a horror movie waiting to happen, and she half-expects to see some mutated inbreeds running up to drag them from the truck and take them back to whatever falling down house in the woods they live in. She resists the urge to reach into her purse and pull out the mace. Instead, she just looks back down at her lap and doesn't even try to stop the tears that leak out. She's cried more in the past week and a half than she thinks she has in the past five years.

"This fucking _sucks!" _he finally says loudly, and she isn't sure if she jumps from his words, from the way he slams his hand into the steering wheel, or from the loud noise the horn makes when he does so.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, and it sounds like a vast contrast to the hotness of his own words. She doesn't even bother wiping her eyes, just swallows and repeats her earlier plea. "Please don't tell him…"

"I'm sick of always fucking lying to him."

Rachel feels sick. Literally sick. She feels that if she didn't physically force herself not to, that she could throw up all over his truck. She knows better, though. That won't accomplish anything. Instead, she tries to play dirty. "He won't forgive you…"

Puck finally turns his head, and the look on his face is actually scary. She flinches a little bit just from his eyes. "He shouldn't have forgiven me the _first_ fucking time," he hisses. "I'm doing it for his own good. Before the next thing you know, I'm fucking his _wife. _Or his _mom."_

Rachel's lip is trembling. She doesn't know what to do or what to say. "Just don't _do _it," she pleads. "_Please. _Let's just pretend like it never happened."

"Right," he says sarcastically. "Because we've done a helluva job so far, haven't we?"

She knows he's right. They've screwed up multiple times- maybe not again to the extent of the first, but they haven't done a very good job of pretending like nothing happened. She doesn't know why. It seems he doesn't, either.

"I don't know why I always _do _this!" He punches the steering wheel again, and the horn blares. "It's like any time there's something that says Do Not Touch_, _all I want to fucking do is _touch! _This is bullshit!_"_

She thinks he might be easing into hysteria. She doesn't know whether to be terrified or relieved at the fact that he's apparently showing emotion for what is probably one of the first times in his entire life. She has a feeling that he has no idea what to do with any of it, though, and thinks that could probably translate into danger. So she chooses terrified.

She's also acutely aware of the fact that he's just admitted that he does, in fact, _want _her. Of course, he wants her the way he wants everything he can't have, and she isn't particularly impressed by that. She doesn't even let her mind wander over to the part that would question whether _she _has any sort of feelings for _him. _That won't be helpful. Instead, she plays to his weakness, not caring at all if she's being more than a little manipulative.

"Noah, _please," _she says softly, and she turns the tears up a few notches. She can cry on demand, and she can also usually turn them up or turn them down when she needs to. "Please… It'll hurt him so badly. I don't want to do that to him, he doesn't deserve it…"

He stares at her. She expects him to scream at her about the crying like he always does, but she's surprised when he doesn't. Instead, he doesn't seem affected by the tears. "I'm sick of always being the fuck up."

He looks sad and serious and mad and a little bit crazy all at once. She doesn't know whether to hate him or hate herself or just hate the entire world. Regardless, she's pretty sure that this is _not _something she's supposed to see. If it wasn't the middle of the school day, she'd guess that he was drunk. Even being the middle of the school day, she won't exactly rule it out. But he looks _sad, _and that scares her because she never sees that on him.

So she does what's come to be the norm with them whenever things get too intense. She kisses him. And this time, neither of them pulls away or stops it. And even though she feels horrible, she doesn't let that stop her. She feels something more in the way he's kissing her, and even though she tries to block it out, she still notices it. Everything about it is wrong, but she ignores it all.

And when he pulls back just enough to wipe away some of her tears, she's never been more terrified in her life.

Three hours later, school is over, and he takes her back to her house. She knows she's going to have to explain her sudden absence somehow, but she isn't too concerned. She feels terrible, and her head hurts worse than she thinks it ever has. They don't really say anything to each other on the way back, and they still don't say anything when he pulls into her driveway. He just grabs her bag from the floorboard and hands it to her. She takes it and doesn't look at him. He doesn't look at her, either, so that makes it easier.

He doesn't wait for her to get into her house before he pulls away.

Once she's upstairs, she throws her bag onto her bed and goes into her bathroom. She looks awful. Her makeup is smudged from all the tears she's cried, her hair is a mess, and her clothes are more than a little wrinkled. She doesn't even recognize the person in the mirror. The reflection looks like a person who is older than her and not as innocent. It looks like someone who is mixed up in something she can't get out of.

It looks like a _desperate _person.

She scrubs her face, trying to not only get rid of the running makeup but also trying to take away some of the guilt. She finds that it doesn't wash away as easily as her mascara does. It makes her sick.

When she goes back to her bedroom, she reaches for her phone. She needs to call her dads to find out when they're going to be home and if she needs to order dinner. She isn't hungry, but she isn't going to give them any reason to be suspicious, especially considering the fact that one or both of them may have received a phone call when she mysteriously didn't show up to her afternoon classes. She doesn't like lying to them, but she sure as hell isn't going to tell them the truth about this.

There's a message waiting for her when she digs her phone out, though. She sees the sender and feels horrible all over again. Still, she opens it and reads it anyway.

"_I won't tell him."_

And while she doesn't know how long it will last, that one sentence calms her at least a little bit. Now if only she could make herself just _stop._

… … …

A/N: Thank you so much again for all the reviews! You guys are awesome!


	6. Chapter 6

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

They manage to survive for an entire week and a half with no major altercations, no real arguments, and, most importantly, no kissing, touching, or otherwise inappropriate activities.

Rachel finds being around him relatively simple when she's in the presence of other people. They can joke around a little in class, share a lunch table, even be dance partners in glee. It's all fine as long as they aren't alone. So she just makes a point to never be alone with him. For his part, Puck seems to get it and seems to agree with her. He doesn't purposely seek her out, and he doesn't even mention any of the several things that have happened between them in the past few weeks.

They just… go back to normal.

And on Saturday afternoon, when his mom orders him to take his little sister to the park, he forces Finn to go with him, who, in turns, drags Rachel along. And really, it's not that bad. She sort of likes hanging out with the two of them together, even if there is a part of her that knows she should feel like a whore in church sitting there between them. But she doesn't go to church (obviously), and the only people she knows who _do _go to church on a regular basis are Quinn (who recently gave up her role as president of the celibacy club to have a half-Jewish bastard baby) and Santana (who is probably way more into communion wine than Mass and has probably used the confessional for all sorts of ungodly things). Regardless, she doesn't really know what to make of that simile, not given what she knows anyway.

All of that is beside the point, though. The point is, Rachel _loves _picnics. It's October, and the park is turning more orange and brown than green, but it's not _so _cold yet that they can't enjoy the outside for awhile. A picnic wasn't part of the original plan- the original plan (at least according to Puck) was "thirty minutes on the swings and monkey bars then get the little bitch home before the OSU game starts." When Finn informed him that Rachel was coming, this plan changed to something along the lines of… "She better bring us food."

So Rachel spends all morning preparing the best fall picnic she can think of. She packs sandwiches and chips and pickles and all that normal picnic stuff, but she also fills the basket with homemade cupcakes and three different kinds of cookies, a good mixture of pop, and several bottles of water. She barely ever gets to actually _use _the picnic basket she begged her dads for two years ago, so whenever the opportunity arises, she always jumps on it eagerly.

The park isn't very crowded at all, and the few people who _are _there are speed-walking the track of playing with their puppies in the dog park. There's only one family there for the playground, and the picnic area is completely empty. Rachel immediately starts getting the food ready, and she watches with more than a little bit of amusement when both of the boys take off with Rebekah toward the playground. Obviously, they are much too big for the equipment, but they do a good job of torturing her and managing to make her shriek and then simultaneously burst into laughter.

It doesn't take them long to decide they want to turn her into a football player, and Finn sends her out toward the middle of the empty soccer field with a, "Yo, Bek, go long!" She runs, and he tells her to go longer, so she goes further. Eventually, she gets to what is an acceptable distance, and Finn hurtles the ball toward her. She jumps up right as the ball goes whizzing far over her head and lands ten feet behind her.

"You suck!" he yells, and she looks wide-eyed and crazy.

"_You're _the one who can't throw!" she shouts back. "That's why your whole team is shitty and can't win anything!"

Rachel is literally _appalled _to hear a nine year use an adjective like 'shitty' so carelessly, but neither Puck nor Finn seem fazed in the least. She thinks that child probably needs someone praying for her extra hard considering what she's got as role models. She almost brings it up, but Puck is charging his little fast, and Bekah screams right before he scoops her up with one arm and uses his free hand to grab the ball off the ground. Without putting his sister down, he slams the ball hard in Finn's direction and yells, "Always aim for the nads, Bekah!"

Finn turns _just _in time and manages to get pelted in the hip instead. He screams out, _"Fuck you, asshole!" _at the same time Rachel drops her face into her hand. From the corner of her eye, she sees the other family in the play area shooting them glares. The mother looks horrified and jerks her kids away. When Rachel looks up and tries to offer an apologetic smile, she gets the meanest look she's ever seen in return. Seriously. Like _she's _the one at fault.

The rest of her group joins her after that, Puck still carrying his sister under one arm like she's a football- at least she's stopped squirming. Finn walks up behind them, scowling and rubbing at the place on his hip where there's sure to be a nasty red mark.

"What're you doing? Scaring off the locals and shit?" Puck drops Rebekah back to her feet just as they get to the picnic area and shakes his head. "Jesus, Rachel, we can't take you _anywhere."_

She glares at him. Then she glares at Finn. Then she glares back at Puck. "You are ridiculous," she tells them collectively. "And I _really _don't think your mother would appreciate her nine year old _child _being exposed to that sort of behavior and language."

Finn laughs. Puck rolls his eyes. And even Rebekah looks at with something close to sympathy. That is, of course, the second before she starts filling her plate and grabbing at every ounce of food within reach. Apparently growing up with these two idiots has taught her to grab first and think later. It's probably a good philosophy because otherwise, she'd probably have been dead a long time ago from starvation.

Still, there's something interesting in the way that the three of them interact. Both of the boys tease her and torment her mercilessly, of course, but she shows absolutely no difference whatsoever in the way she treats them. The fact that one is actually her brother and the other is not does not seem to faze her or even occur to her. She treats them both exactly the same, and they both return the favor. Rachel does the math in her head to figure up the age difference and realizes that Finn has literally been around since Rebekah was born. He and Puck have been best friends since they were seven years old. They're like their own little strange, dysfunctional family.

And here she is… Right in the middle of them. Literally.

Finn and Puck share practically everything. They're both teenage boys with no one but their moms. They get to share this one little sister and pretend to hate her while they both secretly adore her. They shared one baby that neither of them got to keep. They shared the baby's mom, which, again, neither got to keep. They shared another Cheerio, too, albeit rather briefly on one of their parts. And now they share Rachel. Though only one of them knows it.

When the clouds start rolling in, Rachel calls an end to the picnic, and the boys start taking the things back to the car as she and Rebekah take care of the trash. She's caught off-guard when the younger girl asks her a question seemingly out of nowhere.

"Is Finn your boyfriend?"

Rachel nods, not knowing what else to do. Or, really, why she's being asked the question in the first place. Bekah already knows the answer to that question. It doesn't stop her from asking another one.

"Why in the hell?"

"Bekah!" she chastises automatically, shaking her head a little in disapproval. She sees really familiar hazel eyes look back at her blankly. She rightly guesses it's easier to just answer the question than attempt to scold. "Because I like him," she says shortly. "He's nice."

"He's _not _nice." Rebekah looks slightly disgusted. "When I was four, he tried to mail me to _Jupiter. _He stuffed me in a box and filled it up with those Styrofoam peanut things. I was _four, _and even _I _knew the mailman doesn't go to other planets. He's dumb."

Rachel tries really hard not to laugh, but it's actually kind of funny. "Where was your brother?" she can't help asking.

"Um, taping the box up." Rebekah is dead serious, which makes it even funnier. "My mom was _so _mad… I thought she was going to kill them. For real. They're lucky they can run faster than her."

"You know they only tease you because they love you, right?"

Bekah rolls her eyes. "They tease me because they're douchebags." Then she smiles sweetly. "I wish you were my sister."

Rachel laughs a little because the entire conversation is amusing and random, yet so very dramatic coming from a nine year old. "Why do you wish that?"

"Because you're nice, and I've never had a sister. Quinn was supposed to be my sister for a little while, but she was as mean as my brother. And she always fought with my mom _all _the time. And her and Noah always fought _all _the time, too. And then _Mom _and Noah would fight…" Bekah sighs loudly. "It was just very loud. _All _the time."

Rachel smiles, though she isn't really sure _what _to say in response to all that. It doesn't matter, though, because Bekah just carries right on, clearly not _needing _any type of response.

"Yeah, it was awful. And then Momma told Noah the next time he even thinks about bringing home a pregnant Cheerio, she's gonna get him fixed like our old dog, Puddles. But then Puddles got ran over by Mr. Maclin one day when we were supposed to be walking him. But he got off his leash, and the car hit him. And it was the grossest thing ever. You could like see his brains on the sidewalk, and I thought I was gonna like pass out, but I didn't. I've never even passed out ever in my whole life. Have you?"

Rachel's surprised by the sudden question at the end, clearly indicating the end of Rebekah's little rant. She doesn't know whether to laugh or be horrified. Mostly, she just can't believe that _that _many words could be said in such a short period of time. She gets the feeling that this little girl probably has _lots _to say and no one to say it to. It's sweet and sad all at the same time. She probably gets overshadowed by her brother's ridiculous antics, and there's only so much attention that one mother can give. On the other hand, Rebekah's ability to jump subjects so many times within one explanation is both admirable and extremely similar to her brother who can start out talking about video games and end up talking about sushi. Seriously. Rachel's heard that exact scenario firsthand.

Rebekah's still looking at her expectantly, and it takes her a second to even remember the question. She shakes her head, though. "No, I've never passed out."

They're interrupted by the sound of a horn honking. Rachel looks over to the parking lot where Finn and Puck are waiting. Finn has beeped to get their attention, but it's Puck who reaches over to the steering wheel and starts pressing down over and over and over and over until they finally meet his request and start heading over. The sky chooses that exact moment to open up, and Rachel and Rebekah race to the car as the rain starts falling all around them. They both climb quickly into the backseat of Finn's car and shake their hair out simultaneously.

Then Rebekah happily says, "Thank you for taking me to the park," in a nice way that's far too polite for someone with the last name of Puckerman. She even accents it by leaning over the seat and kissing both the boys on the cheek quickly and sweetly. They return the favor in less conventional ways- Puck glares at her and yanks her hair, and Finn reaches back to put a hand on her forehead and push her backwards.

Rebekah just smiles as she buckles her seatbelt and then leans her head over to rest against Rachel's shoulder.

The blissful innocence of it all comes to a screeching halt exactly three days later.

It's Tuesday, and school is over for the day. The day has gone as normal as ever, and Rachel is mentally preparing a list of possible song choices for Sectionals. She's been working on the list since Regionals, and even if Mr. Schuester barely seems to hear her when she makes suggestions, she isn't going to stop working. They need to do their absolute best straight out of the gate this year because it's apparently going to take a lot more than a few heartfelt Journey songs to get them to Nationals. And she _will _make Nationals before she graduates. One way or another.

She's about halfway to the choir room when she sees Santana appear from around the corner. It's very dramatic- almost as if she's literally stepped out of the shadows and into the light of the lockers. Rachel stops in her tracks. It's most habit, considering the fact that Santana has made a habit of sneaking up on her victims from as far back as fourth grade. Whenever she appears with _that _look, it's never good.

"Sup, Sluterella?" Santana raises an eyebrow at her as she crosses her arms and stares her down. Rachel doesn't know what she's talking about, and she knows that she needs to follow her brain's advice and just keep walking. Her feet don't seem to get the message, though.

Santana has left her alone for a little while. She hasn't been _nice _to her, of course, but she's gone back to pretty much just ignoring her existence. Once it was obvious that her news wasn't going to ruin Finn and Rachel's relationship, she got bored and just focused her attention elsewhere. Now, though, she's staring at Rachel with something more than just mild disgust.

"So," Santana says lazily. "How'd you do it?"

"Do what?" Rachel knows better than to ask, but the words come out by themselves.

Santana ignores her and keeps right on. "I mean, I know Puck's a slut and everything, but even _he _has standards."

Rachel's mouth goes dry as she stares the other girl down and uses every bit of willpower she can muster to keep her expression as blank and clueless as possible. "What are you talking about, Santana?" She tries desperately to keep the panic out of her voice.

Santana just looks back at her with a vaguely amused sort of expression. "You might be a good singer, but you're not that great of an actress." Rachel says nothing, and Santana takes that as her cue to continue. "The next time you want to cheat on your boyfriend, maybe you should pick someone who does a better job of keeping up with his phone." Rachel watches in mild horror as the other girl reaches into her bag and pulls out what is unmistakably Puck's phone- totally recognizable by the large chip to the bottom left corner. "He left this in my car," she goes on. "Where he spent half the afternoon fucking _me."_

Rachel still says nothing. She can't find her voice, and she wouldn't know what to say anyway. She stays stuck to her spot and watches as Santana slides the phone open and gives her a glimpse of the incoming texts. She sees her own name over and over and over and over and over as Santana does a quick scroll through the latest stored messages. Rachel already knows what they say. She doesn't need to look any closer. She spent two hours the night before texting him- telling him how grateful she was that he was keeping her secret, telling him it was all for the best and thanking him for being there for her when she needed someone. When Santana flips to the outgoing messages, she sees her name time after time again. Puck agreed with her that it was for the best. He told her that she could trust him. He even told her that she was his friend, and _"I don't have a lot of real ones, so thanks." _

Rachel doesn't think there's anything there would explicitly describe what's gone on in the past few weeks, but certainly anyone would be able to deduce it. Even Finn.

"Please don't tell Finn," she whispers, and it scares her how desperate she sounds.

Santana laughs at her. Literally _laughs. _She is clearly thinking exactly what Rachel is- why would she _ever _keep Rachel Berry's secrets?

"Santana, _please," _she says seriously. "I'll do anything."

"Oh, my god, stop being so desperate," Santana says in what almost seems like disgust. "It's the grossest thing I've ever seen."

"Why are you doing this?" Rachel asks, suddenly unafraid to challenge her. "Why do you even care? Is this about Puck?"

She knows it is. At least partially. Probably mostly. Santana and Puck may not be _dating, _but they both belong more to each other than either of them does to anyone else. It's unspoken (and often denied), but it's fact.

Santana, though, doesn't look amused. "Contrary to what that asshole likes to believe, the whole fucking _world _doesn't revolve around him," she says sharply. "This is about you. And how girls like you always think you can just prance around doing no wrong. Sometimes karma is a bitch."

Rachel doesn't know who these "girls like her" are supposed to be. Furthermore, she doesn't ever remember trying to prance around and do no wrong. She isn't perfect, and she knows it. In fact, she is hyperaware of her faults- much more so than other people are. She _knows _she's done plenty of wrong things in her life, and she's very rarely gotten away with any of them.

"Just please don't tell Finn," she asks again, choosing not to question Santana's latest statement.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."

"Because it will hurt him. And he doesn't deserve that." It's nearly exactly the same reason she gave Puck a week ago.

"You're right," Santana says, and Rachel is a little shocked. "He doesn't deserve it. First Quinn… Now you…" Santana shakes her head a little bit. "He always picks the perfect girlfriends, and then they always fuck him over."

"I told you, I'll do anything." Rachel is quickly starting to panic. She is also dead serious. She will sell her soul to Santana Lopez if that's what it takes.

It doesn't seem to matter, though. "Too late. I already forwarded all of it to him." Rachel's heart drops. She stares at the floor in front of her, determined not to cry. "You think I'm a bitch?" Santana's voice is almost not even malicious- it's almost sort of sad, which makes absolutely no sense. "Look in the mirror, Rachel." She shoves the phone at Rachel. "Give this to your boyfriend. Whichever one you're with today."

Santana walks off in the complete opposite direction of the choir room and leaves Rachel standing all alone in the hallway. Rachel isn't sure if she can even breathe. Her eyes are burning, and she feels physically ill. She wants to run away, too, but she knows she can't. She owes him an explanation at least. It's the last thing in the world that she wants to do, but she forces herself in the direction of rehearsal. Eventually, she even breaks into a run, thinking for one wild second that she might be able to intercept Finn's phone before the forwarded messages come through. She's desperate.

When she makes it to the choir room, all she sees is déjà vu.

Everyone else is already there. They're all standing back with varying looks of horror and confusion as Finn once again attempts to physically beat the life out of Puck. The only difference is that this time, Puck isn't even fighting back or trying to defend himself. There's blood this time, too, either from his nose or his lip or maybe both. Rachel doesn't know because she can't make herself look.

She knows that half the eyes in the room have drifted over to her while the others stay focused on the one-sided fight on the floor. They all know. Even if no one's told them. It's obvious. They all know, and they all blame her.

"Finn…" Her voice is barely there, and she doesn't even know what she's saying or why. She can't _do _anything.

He stops for a second and turns his head to face her. She forces herself to look at him because she owes him that at least. The look on her face is the worst thing she's ever seen. It's anger and hatred and betrayal, but mostly it's just heartbreak. He's got _tears _in his eyes. Tears that _she _put there.

Unlike last year, there is no Mr. Schuester running into the room to break up the fight. Finn just stops. He just stops and looks from her back to Puck and then shakes his head drawing in a really ragged breath.

"Fuck this_," _he says shakily. And then he leaves. He doesn't kick over any chairs or throw anything or demand answers. He's just _done._

Rachel can't blame him.

The rest of her teammates stare at her. They want the answers Finn didn't bother demanding, but they can all go to hell. They all glare at her like she's the devil himself, and somehow she isn't surprised. She wants to scream at them to mind their own fucking business and then maybe throw a chair or two herself, but she doesn't. Of course she doesn't.

Several people run after Finn- Mike, Matt, Kurt… Even Quinn. The rest stand where they are and alternate glaring at her and glaring at Puck. They've always suspected she was pure evil, and she's just proven them all right. They should be congratulating themselves. Instead, they're judging her.

She makes herself look fully at Puck for the first time. It's his nose. It's pouring blood, and his shirt is stained. He's trying to wipe some of it away, but it's just making things look worse. He won't look at any of their teammates, either, and she doesn't blame him. He does, however, look up and meet _her _eye. She doesn't know what to make of his look, and she isn't sure she can define it. She still wants desperately to cry, but she knows she can't. Won't.

Doing her best to ignore the deafening silence and the hate-filled stares, she takes four small steps over to him and silently hands him his phone. When he sees it, he apparently puts the pieces together and mutters, "Fucking bitch…" And then he looks up at her suddenly and quietly amends, "Not you." He knows where he left his phone, and he knows whose hands it fell into. There's no reason to ask anymore questions.

He leaves then, walking past her without another word to her or anyone else. She hears his feet disappear down the hallway as she stands in the still completely silent room. She wants to leave, but her pride won't let her. She can't give them the satisfaction. Finally, when she isn't sure she can stand it anymore, Mercedes breaks the silence.

"I hope you're happy, Rachel."

Happy? _Happy? _Rachel wants to shout at her that, of _course, _she's not fucking _happy! _She wants to yell at her and tell her to shut up and stop trying to judge situations she knows nothing about. She wants to tell Mercedes Jones that, at the moment, she can go to hell for all she cares. She doesn't say any of this. There is no point.

She was here a year ago, when Quinn stood in this very position. She watched as they all rallied around Quinn and hugged her and wiped her tears and promised her that it would be alright. Quinn, who was pregnant and had lied for _months, _got sympathy and hugs.

Rachel gets glares and hateful words.

There's not even a tiny bit of her that is surprised.

Eventually, they all get tired of waiting for her to give them answers or excuses. Apparently, they think they are owed these things, but Rachel does not agree. Mr. Schuester finally shows up, takes one look at the remaining team members, and asks what's going on. Artie offers the information, and Mr. Schuester gives Rachel a glare of his own. She wants to tell him to stick it up his ass. She doesn't. He leaves to run after the real love of his life, and Rachel's left alone with the team again. Finally, they just get bored. They leave, but not without sending her really horrible looks and, she's sure, thoughts.

And then she's all alone.

She's still all alone that night. She's been avoiding her parents all night long, and when she finally hears them go to bed, she stares at the ceiling in her bedroom and tries really hard to just forget. She wants to forget so many things that have happened lately. She _needs _to forget them. She won't. Can't.

Her phone hasn't buzzed once since she got home. She's called Finn numerous times, but his phone is turned off. Contrarily, no one has called to check on her or even sent her a text. No one has come over to make sure that she isn't slitting her wrists in the bathtub after leaving an ominous note like April in _RENT. _No one cares. They just don't _care._

She's been alone her whole life, but she's never truly _felt _it until just now. Now, though, no amount of pretending or focusing on the future is going to make her feel better. She has ruined everything. She has ruined people's lives. And she doesn't even know why. She can't even come up with an excuse logical enough to convince _herself. _

She loves Finn. He's a good boyfriend. He treats her like a princess and practically _worships _her. He fell in love with her despite all the flaws that make her so unappealing to most people. Hell, maybe Mr. Schue was right. Maybe he even loves her _because _of her flaws. Finn is the one she wanted from the start. She finally got him, and now she's lost him. All thanks to herself and her own evil doings. Maybe they're all right about her.

At 11:28, she finally gives into the whirring in her stomach and vomits into her toilet. She turns the shower on so that on the off chance her dads woke up, they wouldn't hear. She doesn't need them asking questions- especially ones she doesn't even know the answers to. She feels a little bit better after her stomach is emptied- at least physically. Emotionally, she feels as awful as ever.

She can't sleep. She's _not _going to school tomorrow. She no longer cares about perfect attendance. None of that stupid stuff even matters now. She lies awake, drained but unable to sleep. It's ridiculous.

At 12:31, she makes a rash decision and picks up her phone. Without giving herself a chance to back out, she calls him, and he answers on the third ring.

"Are you asleep?" she speaks quietly in case her dads can hear.

"No." The answer sounds bored and distant. She doesn't care.

"Will you come pick me up?"

"Why?"

"I don't know. Just… Please?" She feels like an idiot. "Don't pull into my driveway. Just text me when you're close, and I'll sneak out."

There's silence on the other end, and she wonders if he's going to flat out refuse. She would be surprised, but she would also be a little impressed. It doesn't matter, though, because he finally answers her.

"Fine," he mutters. "I'll be there in a few."

"Noah," she catches him right before he hangs up, and he stops, "I'll make it up to you."

There's another beat of silence, and then the soft click of a phone hanging up.

She doesn't know why she called him. She certainly doesn't know what she means when she says she'll make it up to him. It's too scary to think about. Not that it matters, of course…

One sentence, and a deal's a deal.

… … …

A/N: And yes, the inevitable shit has finally hit the fan… Now who's going to clean it up? Thanks for all the reviews on the last chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

This really _is _a perfect setting for a horror movie.

Rachel thinks it again as she watches Puck push open the door of his truck and jump down. She doesn't immediately follow him, but she turns her head toward the rearview mirror and watches him yank down the tailgate and fumble around with something. There's nothing but absolute silence surrounding them, mixed in, of course, with the peppering of a few crickets chirping. She closes her eyes for a second, trying to make sense of _anything, _but then she feels the weight of the truck change, and when she glances into the mirror again, she sees that he's now climbed into the bed of his truck.

She keeps an eye peeled for any radioactive mutant inbreeds as she carefully opens her own door and walks around to join him. He's sitting there on the edge of the gate with his feet hanging in front of him. He's apparently got some secret stash of alcohol in one of the toolboxes back there because he didn't have that beer when he got out of the truck. When he sees her staring, he holds it up in silent offering.

"It's bad for your voice," she says immediately, and it sounds like the most normal reaction coming from her. "Plus, you know, _illegal." _As very Rachel Berry as it sounds, there's little feeling behind it, and he can tell. He just shrugs and takes another drink.

When he picked her up two houses down from her own, she'd climbed into his truck silently, and they hadn't said much the entire way. He asked her where she wanted to go, and she said she didn't know. She didn't care. He drove them all the way back out to the same abandoned parking lot they'd visited last week and turned the truck off without a word.

And here they are.

"I'm not going to school tomorrow," she says quietly, taking it upon herself to join him in the truck. He doesn't outright offer her a spot, but he scoots over a little bit and helps her up when it's obvious that she's a little bit too short to do this easily. When she's settled, she mimics him and lets her feet dangle aimlessly. "I'm going to skip."

"Good for you," he says, and his voice is dull and unimpressed. "I'm not sure if I'll go for the rest of the semester."

She knows he isn't being serious. He may be a semi-delinquent, but he wants out of here. Badly. Dropping out of school isn't going to accomplish that. He'll settle for just skipping algebra a few times a week instead.

There's still silence around them, and it's weird. She isn't sure what she's doing here or why she asked him to pick her up in the middle of the night and take her… _here? _She still doesn't even know where _here _is. It's _very _dark outside, and if it wasn't for the fact that he's left his headlights on, she probably wouldn't even be able to see her own hand. There's certainly no street lamps or traffic coming through to provide any sort of light. It's scary.

Somehow, she still feels pretty safe.

It's cold. Chilly October days turn into freezing October nights. She's dressed warmly, but she shivers anyway. The wind is stronger than she expected, and she's not sure the jacket she's brought is enough. Without saying anything, though, he seems to read her mind. She watches as he hops off the truck and walks back to the front of the truck. She turns her head and watches as he grabs a McKinley football hoodie from behind his seat and brings it back around, handing it to her before reclaiming his seat on the gate and taking another drink from his beer.

She smiles a small thanks and pulls the sweatshirt over her head. It smells like his truck, which means it smells like boy and junk food and the slightest hint of marijuana. It also smells like his soap and what she thinks is probably the remnants of Gain laundry detergent- the apple kind- though she suspects it's been weeks or maybe months since this shirt last saw the washing machine. Somehow, this fact doesn't bother her.

Without turning her head, she sees him looking at her from the corner of his eye. It makes her blush. She doesn't know why.

"Did you talk to Finn?" he asks out of nowhere, and she feels like he's trying to distract himself from something. He takes the last sip from his beer and then just lets the bottle dangle between his fingertips.

She shakes her head and tries not to feel as depressed as she really does. "His phone is turned off."

"I cussed Santana out."

She looks over at him, and he seems determined to stare at the gravel in front of them. "Why?" she asks dully. "What's the point?"

"Because she's a fucking bitch, and she needs to keep her goddamn nose out of my fucking business." His voice is harsh, and she hears something underneath it that she can't quite make out.

"She likes you," Rachel says quietly. "She hates me, but she _likes _you. That's why she did it."

"Fuck that."

"I don't get you two."

He looks over at her when she says that, and his eyes look sort of angry, though that look doesn't really reach the rest of his face. "You don't have to get it," he kind of snaps. "Me and her know what it is."

"Maybe she thinks it's something different."

Puck doesn't say anything back to that, but the eye glare gets a little sharper. It's the truth, though. Santana is possessive over things she considers rightly hers- namely, her popularity and one Noah Puckerman. He can deny this fact all he wants, but it doesn't change anything.

"Look, Santana cares about exactly two people. Herself. And Brittany. So if you're not one of those two people, she doesn't give a shit whose life she fucks up." He seems awfully sure of himself, or maybe he is just trying to convince himself. Either way, Rachel decides to let it go. She has no desire to spend her time psychoanalyzing the dramatic love/hate relationship of the two biggest bullies and most conceited people she's ever known.

This does, however, make her ask the question she's been wanting to ask for ages. Maybe forever. She isn't sure what it is about _this _moment right now, but she figures a lot of it has to do with the fact that she isn't really sure she can fall much lower than she already has. There's no point in even pretending that she has any dignity left.

"Noah," she says slowly, and she swallows before she continues, staring at the ground underneath her feet, "why does everyone hate me?"

She braces herself for the inevitable answer. He is not a very nice person, and he is a blunt to a fault. She expects him to say something about how crazy she is and how psychotic and bossy and overbearing and weird and annoying she is. She isn't going to let it hurt her feelings. She just wants an honest answer.

"It's not about hate," he mutters. "You're just an easy target."

She blinks. And nods. But she can't resist asking, "Why, though?"

"Because you never stand up for yourself."

"I choose not to lower myself to other people's levels," she says haughtily, and she has no idea why she's even bothering to offer an excuse. "When you ignore that type of behavior and refuse to react, they eventually get bored and stop."

She hears him snort beside her, and she looks over to see him rolling his eyes. "That's some shit that parents tell their kids to keep them out of fights. And their kids are always the ones getting the crap kicked out of them."

He is partially right. She has, in fact, heard that same sentiment from her fathers on multiple occasions. When she was in elementary school and getting picked on for the lopsided pigtails her dads managed to suit her with, they told her to just ignore the bullies and they would stop. They told her the same thing in middle school when the cheerleaders spread a rumor that she was a drag queen since "that's the closest to a girl two fags would want." By high school, she stopped telling them about the bullying. It was getting increasingly worse, and she was afraid that if they knew what was happening, they'd finally step in and go to the school, which would only make things worse. But she still followed their advice- she still ignored it.

She realizes now that she ignoring ten or more years of bullying didn't make anyone stop anything. She wonders why she's never noticed before.

"What's it even matter?" he asks, and he looks up and meets her eye. "People don't pick on you anymore."

"No, _you _don't pick on me anymore," she corrects him. "There are plenty of people who still love making me miserable. I just don't know _why._"

He looks a little embarrassed, probably because she's just called him out for being a jerk. Then he just shrugs and says, "You wanna hear something retarded?"

She just looks at him blankly, and he apparently takes that as his cue that she does, in fact, want to hear something retarded.

"When I was thirteen, my dad came back one night, just like randomly. And it was like three days before my birthday, so I thought he was there to like celebrate or some shit. And I got like really fucking excited because I thought it meant he must give a shit or something." Puck rolls his eyes at what he obviously views as his own stupidity. "But all he did the whole time he was there was like fight with my mom and tell her she needed to give him some money or he was gonna like take her car and sell it or some shit. He didn't even fucking speak to me or Bekah. Hell, he didn't even _look a_t us. And then he just fucking left again, and my mom went fucking psychotic batshit, of course. And I had to like deal with that shit and try to deal with Bekah and calm her down, too." He stops talking abruptly and turns his head back to stare blankly in front of him. She can see his jaw clenched and knows he's obviously changed his mind about whatever point he was trying to make.

He doesn't talk about his dad. Ever. Not unless he's making some mention in passing or making a thinly-veiled attempt at a joke about the 'deadbeat.' He doesn't ever actually _talk _about him, though. Rachel knows the story, though. _Really _small Jewish community… She waits patiently for him to finish whatever he's saying, and a few seconds later, he finally manages it.

"But yeah, like the next morning, I saw your dad dropping you off at school. And it was the whole hug and kiss and then go back in for seconds bullshit, and it just fucking pissed me off. You know, that you had even like one dad who gave a shit, much less _two. _So at lunch that day, you walked by, and I threw my slushie at you." He pauses for a second. "That was the first time."

Rachel doesn't say anything. She remembers that first slushie vividly. She remembers the shock and the total humiliation she felt. She remembers the laughter and the smirk on his face right before his friends high-fived him. That was the birth of the legendary "slushie facial." It wasn't just her first time- it was his first time and, as far as she knew or knows now, the school's first time. It was a trend that picked up rapidly, and she was quickly at a point where she constantly had to bring extra clothes with her to school because they happened so often. Other people got involved, too, both on the giving and the receiving end. It was just one more thing the teachers couldn't find a way to control.

She's never taken the time to contemplate the reason behind that very first one, though. Maybe she's never cared. Or maybe she's just always assumed the reason didn't reach far beyond _total mean asshole. _She feels sort of bad now.

"Sorry," he mutters. It's the second time he's apologized to her for the slushies. She thinks he may mean it more now.

She wants to ask him about his dad. She wants to ask him if he misses him and if he wants to see him again. She wants to ask if his mom still cries about him or if Bekah even remembers him. These are things she wants to know, but they are not things she has a _right _to know. She can tell her own secrets if she wants, but she knows it's rude to ask for other's. Social etiquette is something she struggles with sometimes, but there are things she knows for sure. One of those is that Noah Puckerman does _not _tell his own secrets, and when he does, you can't push for more.

She breathes in the silence around them for a few moments, and she can't decide if it's the most awkward feeling in the world or the most comfortable. They aren't looking at each other, and they aren't speaking. They're just both staring out into the nothingness of this broken empty parking lot. If this were a movie, they'd be at a lake or at a beach- maybe an empty cornfield if the movie was _especially _Midwestern. But this is real life, and this is Ohio. And this? Is a crumbling parking lot.

And it's sort of nice.

"Why is what I did worse than what Quinn did?" she wonders quietly.

"It's not."

"When Finn found out about Quinn, everyone else hugged her and told her it was going to be okay." She breaks off for a second. "No one's even checked on me all night."

"Did you expect them to?" She turns her head just as he tosses the empty beer bottle several feet in front of them. It shatters on the concrete, making the most noise she's heard since she got here.

She's startled only momentarily. "I just thought… I don't know why they think this is worse. That was a _baby."_

His jaw clenches at that, and she can see it in the moonlight. Another thing he doesn't talk about is the baby. She isn't surprised when he brushes over that particular aspect of her observation and barks out something of his own. "Quinn makes them feel popular. Everyone wants to be popular, Rachel."

She knows this. She knows it maybe better than anyone. She doesn't say anything.

"It doesn't matter what she does. If she needs a new BFF, there's going to be a line waiting to apply."

Rachel shakes her head. "That's stupid. Quinn is mean. She's always been mean to them."

"It's high school." He repeats a sentiment he made a couple of weeks before when he unexpectedly showed up on her front porch. She wonders if that's his answer to every question. "People don't care what you do or did. If you're popular, they're gonna fucking flock after you and try to get some of it, too. I could treat you like _shit _every day of your life for years, but if I'm popular and I ask you if you want to make out, you're still gonna say yes."

Rachel won't argue that. She can't. It's true. It _happened. _

"And anyway, Quinn's not their competition," he says, and she feels him finally turn his head again and look at her. "You are. You're the fucking _star. _And some of them want that shit even more than the popularity."

Normally, hearing people call her a star makes her happy. It's some sort of validation for the living hell she forces herself to go through every single day. It gives her hopes for a future that are far away from Lima, Ohio and William McKinley High School. Her future isn't supposed to be here with Walmart and Olive Garden and no sign of culture in sight. It's supposed to be in a city made of pavement and the Met and the Rainbow Room.

Being a star is the only thing that's going to get her there.

But when he says it now, she doesn't feel the usual thrill behind the words. She just feels dull and empty and sad. Maybe it's because she knows he's right, or maybe it's because she doesn't believe him. She's so messed up that she doesn't even know what her own _brain _is thinking these days.

"That doesn't give them a reason to hate me so much," she finally mumbles.

"People do shit because they're jealous, Rachel," he says flatly. "That's a good enough reason."

She thinks back to his slushie confession and doesn't go any further with it.

"Plus, people are just assholes," he goes on. "They like to watch other people fuck up or see bad shit happen because it makes them feel better about their own crappy lives."

A small dramatic gasp escapes from her lips. "It's Schadenfreude…"

She sees him raise an eyebrow at her that lets her know he has no idea what the hell she's talking about. She doesn't expect him to get the reference, and she's too tired to try and explain it. So she just shakes her head, and they just sit there for a few moments.

"Finn will forgive you," he says out of nowhere, and she looks over and meets his eye. "He won't forgive me, but he will you. Don't worry."

"I'm going to tell him it was all my fault," she says, shaking her head a little. "If he ever picks up his phone. It's not fair to blame you. It was my idea."

This isn't a lie. She has every intention of telling Finn just that. She hates herself for hurting him, but she kind of feels even worse over the fact that she's managed to ruin their friendship for a second time. Neither one of them deserves that. They're best friends. They deserve each other at least, even if she doesn't deserve either one of them.

"It wasn't all your fault, Rachel. You didn't like hold a fucking gun to my head or something."

"I pushed you," she says, and she's surprised that she doesn't feel more embarrassed. Maybe it's because she's analyzed the situation so many times in her head that she just accepts everything as fact now. "I pushed you, and I knew it was wrong. And I was the one with the boyfriend. It was my fault."

"Why'd you do it anyway?"

She is ashamed, but she doesn't fight the embarrassed heat that floods to her cheeks. "I already told you. I just wanted my own secret."

"I don't get that, though. I mean, if you didn't do it to make him jealous or hurt him, what was the fucking point?"

She doesn't expect him to get it. No one would understand. _She _doesn't even fully understand, but she tries to explain it. "I wanted to control something," she says quietly. "I don't ever get to control anything."

She can tell by the way his eyes change that he has _no _idea what she's talking about. She isn't surprised because she knows she's not making any sense. It's hard to make sense of something that's senseless. Except it's _not _senseless, not to her anyway.

"Nothing in my life ever happens like it's supposed to. I just… I want things _so _badly, and they never happen." Her voice drops off, and she lowers her eyes before continuing. "Or they _do _happen, and then they end up cracking eggs on my head or telling me that I'm not enough of an infant for them to want…"

"Fuck them, Rachel." She knows who the _them _is. It hasn't been a great year for her emotionally.

"I just thought when this happened that it was just another one of those things. Finn, I mean. When I found out about him and Santana… I just felt like it was one more thing that I wanted too much that was exploding in my face."

She doesn't know why she tells him this. It's embarrassing and not entirely beneficial to her normal façade. She trusts him, though, strangely. He's a good secret-keeper.

"He didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know." She looks away and blinks several times. She _does _know. It doesn't make her feel better. "Do you think I'm a horrible person?"

"No."

"Do you think Finn does?"

"Maybe right now." He lifts one shoulder just barely. "But just give him some time to cool off."

"Everyone else thinks I am."

"They don't know shit about it." She looks over as he speaks and carefully meets his eye. His eyes seem to change colors right in front of her. It's fascinating in an odd way that not many things are at 2 AM. "You're not a bad person," he repeats, his voice low and knowing.

She wants to tell him that he isn't, either, but part of her knows that he won't believe her. He blames himself as much as she blames herself. It isn't fair, but she's a little bit sure that he's somehow convinced himself that the entire thing is his fault. She thinks the fact that he didn't even try to defend himself when his nose was getting busted shows that he's just resigned to the fact that he is not a good person. It's very sad and makes her feel worse.

"And don't worry, Rachel," he says quietly. "All those things you want too badly… You're gonna get all that shit."

His face is beautiful out here in the moonlight. She wants to tell him, but the words get stuck in her throat. His face is beautiful everywhere, and he knows it. But out here like this, it's suddenly a different sort of beautiful. And that terrifies her. He's looking at her _so _intently that she feels like he can see inside of her and knows all the secrets even _she's_ unwilling to share.

"What things?" she whispers, already knowing the answer but suddenly needing to hear him say it.

"All the stuff you really want. All the important shit." He keeps his eyes locked on hers, and she finds it absolutely impossible to look elsewhere. "You'll get it because you're like the most talented person ever." She mirrors the tiny little smile he offers her, and she realizes how _close _he is. She doesn't know which one of them has been slowly closing the distance, but maybe it's both. She stays perfectly still as he reaches up to push some hair away from her face. "And then when you get out of here and go to New York or LA or wherever the hell you want to go," he goes on softly, "you can forget all about all those people and all this bullshit…"

She knows he's going to kiss her, and she doesn't pull away. Her eyes flutter for a second before closing right as she feels his lips barely brush against hers. He doesn't move his hand away from where he's pushed her hair, but she keeps both of hers clamped tightly to her sides, gripping the edge of the tailgate for dear life. He doesn't normally kiss her like this, and she knows deep down that acknowledging there _is _a normally at all makes the entire situation even worse. But right now she doesn't care.

He just barely kisses her. Then he stops, and his lips just stay there against hers without moving or anything. She can feel his breath against her face, and his hand is perfectly still in her hair. Between the close proximity and the fact that she's wearing his sweatshirt, she can _smell _him so strongly that it's almost shocking. Every single one of her senses seems to be on overload. Not her sight, though. She keeps her eyes closed because she knows that if she opens them and sees him so close that she's going to make really bad decisions. She doesn't want to. She wants to leave things at this level- _needs _to, rather- because when she finally talks to Finn _(if _she talks to him), she doesn't want to lie.

But there is part of her that thinks (_knows) _that if she asked right now, Puck wouldn't push her away. There's also some badly buried part of her that lives for romantic Old Hollywood movie moments, and she knows that they don't get much more obvious than this. Even without the lake or the beach or the cornfield, two teenagers in the back of a truck on a perfectly clear night is the sort of stuff that movies are made of. And maybe they could just run away and live out a perfectly clichéd Hollywood story- like _Rebel without a Cause, _but with a twist. He'd make an excellent James Dean, and she's always had a _very _deep connection to Natalie Wood.

It scares her a little bit how badly she wants him.

She lets him kiss her, though, when he decides to start back up. The moment of stillness disappears, and she feels every nerve in her body stand on end when he starts to move his lips over hers again. She still keeps her eyes closed, but she lets herself kiss him back. She doesn't trust herself enough to open them and prove that it's all real. If she keeps them closed, she can still pretend it's just part of a fantasy. That's what she needs right now anyway. She doesn't _need _this to be real.

He kisses her for… she has no idea how long. She doesn't open her eyes, and she certainly doesn't check the time. She eventually loosens her grip on the tailgate and lets herself touch him. After that, it's all lips and soft touches in the moonlight. She doesn't let it go further, and he doesn't even push. They just _kiss, _and it's the best thing she's felt in a long time. This scares her, so she doesn't dwell on it. She just lets herself get lost but always reminds herself not to get _too _lost because she needs to be able to find her way back.

When he drops her off down the street from her house, the clock on his dashboard reads 3:18. He tells her he'll see her later in school, but she reminds him that she's skipping. He just smiles and tells her he'll believe it when he sees it. Then she slips his sweatshirt off and hands it back to him. He takes it and leans over to kiss her softly. She whispers a quick goodbye and tries to keep the blush away from her cheeks as she climbs out of his truck. He doesn't pull away until she's walking up her driveway.

She does her best to be as quiet as possible as she slips her key into the backdoor and carefully pushes it open. There's no need, though. The kitchen light is on, and both of her parents are awake and waiting up for her. Neither of them looks too happy.

"Where the _hell _have you been? Do you know what time it is?"

She doesn't know what the protocol here is. She's never snuck out of her house before, and she's certainly never been caught sneaking back in. She doesn't know if these are hypothetical questions or if she is supposed to actually answer them.

"Late," she says quietly, thinking maybe it will answer both questions at once.

"It's three o'clock in the morning! You better have a damn good excuse to be walking into this house at _three o'clock _in the morning!"

She isn't used to this. Her parents don't normally get angry with her, and they rarely ever yell. She doesn't think she's been yelled at since she was maybe ten years old. Only one of them is yelling, though- her other father is sitting at the table just looking disappointed. She doesn't know which is worse.

"Finn and I broke up." She says this miserably, thinking that maybe it will make them feel sorry for her. She doesn't have to work much on the tone, though. She _is _miserable. "I was just upset and couldn't sleep, so I just needed to get out… I'm sorry."

She isn't lying. She just isn't telling the full truth.

One father seems more moved by her explanation than the other. The other is still just _pissed. _"You better be sorry! We were about to call the police!"

"Rachel, why haven't you been answering your phone?" Disappointed Dad finally speaks up, and she reaches into the pocket of her jeans and sees seventeen missed calls.

"I didn't hear it." Her eyes lower because she realizes that she's had them scared to death. She feels bad because she can't imagine how panicked they were to wake up and find her not there and then to call her so many… _seventeen _times with no answer. She isn't a child who normally goes missing- it's not surprising that they assumed the worst.

"What happened with Finn?"

She doesn't want to talk about it. "A bunch of stuff," she says vaguely, realizing it doesn't sound at all like an explanation she normally gives. _'I cheated on him. Multiple times. With his best friend,' _doesn't sound like something that will help with the sympathy factor, though.

"Rachel, you can't just disappear without telling us where you're going. We were so scared something horrible had happened."

"You're not going anywhere for a long time, so it doesn't matter! You _know _better than this!"

"I'm sorry," she says again, this time feeling tears prickle at the corner of her eyes. She isn't even sure whether they're fabricated or not. She thinks maybe they're real. Or else she's a better actress than she gives herself credit for.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"It doesn't matter what happened with her boyfriend!" Angry Dad glares from one to the other- his eyes locking on hers. "You're sixteen years old, you follow our rules!"

In a way, she thinks she prefers the yelling. At least he isn't pressing for answers as to why she and Finn have come to an end. She thinks she'd rather be yelled at and punished than forced to confess her sins. And she has a feeling that a good dose of guilt could easily trick her into confessing everything.

"I know," she whispers, and she feels one of those tears slide down her cheek.

"Don't you even _think _about trying a stunt like this again, or you're going to be in _real _trouble, do you understand?"

She doesn't know what _real _trouble is, but she nods anyway. And then she feels her breath hitch a little bit and feels more tears fall. She looks down at the wooden floor and tries not to feel as horrible as she really does. But then her dad pulls her into his arms and hugs her to his chest. She feels his anger disappearing, and she lets herself cry more. She's always felt safest right here, and even though she knows she's in trouble, she also knows no one will ever love her more.

"Honey, if you want us to trust you, you can't do things like this that scare us." All the anger is gone from his voice as he runs a hand soothingly over her hair, and she nods into his chest, trying to get the crying under control. When it gets to a point where she can actually breathe normally again, he kisses the top of her head. "You need to go to bed. School tomorrow."

So much for skipping. She isn't going to disappoint them even more, and clearly, she can't get away with _anything. _She just nods, and then she gets a hug and a kiss and a "_love you_" from her other dad.

When she's upstairs, she changes into pajamas, grabs her phone, and climbs into bed. She quickly types out a text message.

"_I got caught, so I have to go to school. They're so mad, I think I'm grounded til I'm 30."_

It doesn't take very long at all for the phone to buzz on her nightstand, signaling a reply. She smiles a little bit when she reads it.

"_Good thing I'm a fucking pro at that shit."_

She figures he probably is. _Rebel without a Cause _and all that, of course. It's funny how she feels so horrible, but a one sentence, profanity-laced text message gives her a little bit of hope that maybe it's really _not _as bad as it seems.

Maybe.

… … …

A/N: Thanks for all the responses on the last chapter! Sorry to everyone who made requests, but we can't kill Santana because she's kinda my favorite and I love her! Thanks for reading, and hopefully not too long before the next one!


	8. Chapter 8

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

Rachel wakes up to the sound of rain beating against her window.

Apparently the clear night she spent outside has clouded up and turned into a rainy morning. She hears thunder rumble, too, and thinks there's probably going to be a storm. She glances at her clock and sees that it's 7:05. She purposely reset her alarm before she went to bed so that she wouldn't have to wake up at six and try to function on less than three hours of sleep. She isn't at all sure that she can make it on four…

After showering and throwing her hair into the messiest ponytail she's ever left the house in, she pulls on the same pair of jeans she wore the night before and a zip-up hoodie. She looks nothing like her usual self, but that's okay because she _feels _nothing like her usual self. The pounding her head doesn't help anything.

She has to ask her dad for a ride to school because the person who usually takes her will certainly not be showing up offering his services this morning. They ride to her school in relative quietness. She is glad that he doesn't push for details about her breakup and that he doesn't bring up the night before. The best thing about her parents is that they don't hold grudges. They won't bring something up over and over after it's already been dealt with- not with each other and not with her. She knows plenty of people who bring up things from ten years ago when they start arguing or trying to make a point, but that's not her dads.

And she's especially thankful for that this morning.

When her dad kisses her forehead before she gets out of the car and tells her, "Everything's going to be okay," she's reminded of the night she just spent and the back story behind her first slushie facial. It makes her more thankful than ever for her dads.

The morning doesn't go quite as she thought it would. She expects to walk into the school building and see people glaring at her and saying horrible things and calling her a slut and a bunch of other stuff that doesn't happen. No one even glances at her as she makes her way to her locker and gets her things out for English. When she makes it to class and sits down in her desk, she stays perfectly ignored just like always.

It occurs to her that the news somehow hasn't spread yet. It happened after school let out the day before, and the only people around to witness it were the other glee members. She's still surprised, though, that it hasn't leaked everywhere. She guessed that Santana would have sent out a mass text to the entire school, and she's shocked that this doesn't appear to be the case. She knows it won't take long, though. Kurt and Mercedes will start whispering during first period, and people will overhear. Brittany will tell half the Cheerios. Mike will let it slip to some of the football players…

It won't take long.

When she enters the hallway on her way to second period, she knows it's already happening. A few people stare at her and whisper to each other as she walks by. She tells herself it's not important and that she doesn't care what other people think. She knows this is a total lie and has trouble convincing even herself, but she still repeats it to herself all the way to Spanish.

She hides out in the bathroom across the hall right up until the bell because she doesn't want to deal with Mr. Schuester and any of his attempts to butt into her personal life. He already hates her enough, and she knows she's just handed him a silver platter full of justification by breaking his (giant) mini-me's heart.

She watches the time carefully, knowing that being late will be just as bad as being early. With exactly forty-five seconds until bell, she heads across the hall to the Spanish classroom and is just able to slip past Mr. Schuester unnoticed. Everyone else is already inside, and she looks over to her normal table to see that it's already occupied. She hesitates for a second, wondering if she should sit down, but Puck moves his bag off the other chair without looking at her, and that's the confirmation she needs.

Everyone is staring at them.

Apparently all it took was one break between classes to spread the news to the whole school, and she knows perfectly well that they're all watching to see what happens. Honestly, she's shocked that he wants to sit with her. He does occasionally, but he avoids her like the plague just as often. She wasn't sure what to expect from today's behavior, and there was a huge part of her that figured he was going to put as much distance as humanly possible between them. She's surprised to find herself proven wrong.

They don't look at each other, and neither one of them looks at anyone else, either. There's no need because the stares are so obvious that she can actually _feel _them, and she's pretty sure he can, too. She gets her book out and waits until the bell rings, and she can't believe only forty-five _seconds _have passed since she left the bathroom.

That class goes _exactly _like she expects.

Mr. Schue is not happy, and this is evident by the way he sends the pair of them what Rachel assumes are supposed to be 'disappointed' looks but really come off as 'pissed the fuck off' glares. She _really _needs to stop spending so much time with Noah Puckerman before her mouth catches up to the profanity now invading her brain more often than not.

For what it's worth, Puck just stares (glares) right back at their teacher and silently challenges him to say _anything. _It's very rebellious and, she thinks begrudgingly, _badass, _and she can't help glancing over at him just to confirm that it is, in fact, happening. It is. She, on the other hand, isn't quite brave enough to offer her own challenging glare, so she just doesn't make eye contact. With anyone. Mr. Schuester, of course, doesn't actually take the bait and make verbal judgments against them in front of the rest of the class. He'll wait until they're alone or, at the very least, in glee where he will have lots of backup when he decides to start running his mouth. Sometimes Rachel hates him more than she hates the teenagers who make her life hell. He's supposed to be an adult, and she thinks sometimes he forgets that.

He doesn't stop them after class, though, but he does fix them with that same disappointed/pissed the fuck off look that he's been shooting them off and on throughout the entire class. Rachel is glad he doesn't actually _say _anything, though, because she doesn't trust Puck enough _not _to do something that might end with them both being expelled. As much as he doesn't act it a lot of the time, Mr. Schuester is a _teacher, _and she's pretty sure cussing out and/or taking a swing at a teacher is looked down upon. Even at McKinley. So she's thankful when nothing happens.

She expects him to disappear after class, but he doesn't. She's surprised when he starts walking with her and stops at her locker. They still haven't actually _spoken, _but she figures now is as good a time as ever. It doesn't matter that people are giving them strange looks from every direction. He _followed _her and is here at _her _locker, so she figures she's at least allowed to speak to him.

"Your class is the other direction," she points out, knowing it's an incredibly stupid way to start a conversation, but it never hurts to point out the obvious.

"If anybody gives you shit today, tell me." She's surprised by his response to her observation. He sounds very sullen, and his voice is quiet in a way only she can hear. She looks at him and is surprised to see how serious he looks.

"Nobody's said anything to me…"

"If they do," he repeats. "Tell me. I'll take care of it."

Rachel is conflicted by this. Part of her is thrilled by the fact that somebody is _finally _willing to stand up for her. Another part is worried that the only reason he's willing to stand up for her is because it's his life and his reputation, too. _Another _part is worried that he'll do something really stupid and get himself into trouble. He's got a very bad temper, and he tends to overreact to things. He's mean enough when he's not even upset or personally being threatened- she can't help but worry that whatever might come out of _this _would stretch far beyond dumpster tosses.

"Noah, I can take care of myself."

"No, you can't." She looks at him. "You _won't," _he amends, and she sighs through her nose. "Look, I'm fucking sick of people putting their noses where they don't belong. If somebody fucks with you, _I'm _handling it." She doesn't even think she could argue right now if she wanted to. (She doesn't). He seems satisfied and changes the subject. "What're you doing for lunch?"

She's been trying not think about it. Lunch is still an hour away, and while she knows the cafeteria is possibly the most dangerous place for a person in a dangerous social status, she's been trying to convince herself that it will all be fine. It hasn't worked so well. Everyone will be there- the whole _school _will be there. _Finn _will be there.

She doesn't want to be there.

"I need to do some research for my history paper, so I'll probably just go the library."

"Research?" He raises an eyebrow. "You don't need the fucking library for _research, _that's what the damn Internet is for." She opens her mouth to argue, but she can't think of anything to say. "You don't have to avoid the cafeteria." He can read her _mind. _"You can sit with me if you want to."

She thinks that _maybe _this is the nicest he's ever been to a single person in his entire life. She appreciates the small offer more than she probably should, but she knows that lunch is not in the cards for her today. "I don't want to go," she says quietly.

"Then I'll go with you," he says without hesitating. "To the library or wherever. Or we can go out and get something if you want."

Leaving school during the day (including lunch) is against the rules. She doesn't need to get caught off-campus during the school day because she's already in the most trouble she can ever remember being in. As tempting as it is, she's not going give her parents _more _reason not to trust her.

"I don't need to get caught," she says, putting an end to his brainstorming. She expects him to argue that he _never _gets caught, and that if they _did, _by some ungodly chance, they'd just get detention and he's got a pretty permanent seat anyway.

He doesn't, though. He just nods and says, "See you in the library," before going off in the direction of his next class. She watches him go and lets out a breath she doesn't even realize she's holding. He's serious, she realizes. He's going to _take care _of her.

She first runs into Finn much later that afternoon- after she spends the lunch period in the library talking with Puck and not actually researching. It's after she hears someone call her a 'ugly ass slut' after she walks out of the bathroom. It's after Brittany comes up to her in economics and offers her a piece of gum before just kind of smiling nicely, shrugging, and walking away. Rachel doesn't always get Brittany. She _rarely _gets Brittany. But she knows that she isn't malicious. It's funny, she thinks, that the small gesture is the nicest thing anyone's done for her all day (nicest by someone whose name isn't Noah anyway). Brittany is strange. Rachel doesn't know what she possibly sees in Santana.

But anyway, later- after _all _of that- she finally sees Finn. He's walking down the hallway with Matt, and they're talking about something that's obviously got them both relatively distracted. In her mind, this is how that first meeting goes:

They spot each other across the hallway. He looks at her longingly, and she knows he misses her. She makes the first move and goes over to him, asks him if they can talk, and he hesitates for only a second before nodding and following her into an empty classroom. He stands there while she pours her heart out and apologizes and swears that she never wanted to hurt him. Finally, he nods sadly and opens his arms. She rushes into them, and he hugs her in forgiveness and then tells her everything is okay. And they live happily ever after.

In reality, though…

She stays exactly where she is and doesn't move. Finn happens to glance in her direction as he and Matt pass by. He stops for a second and looks at her, and she can barely force herself to make eye contact. When she does, though, she sees all that hurt and betrayal and anger that she saw yesterday, and she isn't brave enough to move her feet and go up to him, much less ask him to talk. Matt stands there awkwardly, and then Finn turns away from her, and the two of them walk away without another glance back.

And that's the only time she sees him all day.

Right before her last class, Puck once again visits her locker. Actually, he's waiting there when she walks up, which she finds extremely unnerving but also rather nice. "You okay?" he asks when she starts twirling her combination into the lock.

She nods and tucks some hair behind her ear. Every time she opens her locker, she expects to find something disgusting oozing out or hate mail filling every corner. She's always surprised when it doesn't. At least today she is.

"Do I need to kick anybody's ass?" She would laugh, but the fact that he is so dead serious is a little off-putting.

"I'm fine," she says quietly because, really, no one has been too awful. At least not to her face. She's heard comments in passing, but she's gotten really good at letting those go over time. It hasn't been as horrible as she expected and, honestly, other than the brief non-moment with Finn, she doesn't care enough about any of the rest of it to let it get to her. She notices now, of course, that it seems like more people are staring than usual. She knows this is only because they are both at her locker, _together, _and everyone is dying for a glimpse of something to confirm the rumors.

She doesn't even know what the rumors are.

She has her suspicions, of course. It isn't hard to imagine what most people most assume is going on. Even if she's Rachel Berry, he's still Noah Puckerman, and people expect certain things. It almost makes her feel smug in a way, knowing that there are only two people who know the _truth _and that everyone else is just believing a lie. Of course, it doesn't matter much at all, does it? Whatever everyone else believes will _become_ the inevitable truth. After all… it's high school.

"Finn didn't swing at me in bio," he says, and she watches as he leans against the lockers and looks down the hall at the people who are all doing their best not to be caught staring. "That's a plus, right?"

She shrugs and switches out her books. "He won't even look at me."

"It's gonna be cool," he tells her, and she has no idea why, but she sort of believes him. "I'll take you home, okay? I know your dads are probably working."

"You have football," she points out, but her lack of a ride home has been bothering her all day.

He just shrugs. "Fuck it. See you after school."

He walks away after that, off to his last class. She tries not to be as happy as she really is about his offer to take her home. She knows that all of this is pushing her into very dangerous territory, but there's not much she can do to control it. It just keeps happening.

She makes it to her last class a little early, and she's surprised to hear someone saying her name right before she enters the classroom. She recognizes the voice and turns around uneasily, not knowing why Quinn is actually speaking to her in public. Usually, she goes out of her way _not _to acknowledge her outside of glee.

"Um, hey," she says, and it's obvious straight off the bat that Quinn is beyond uncomfortable with this impromptu conversation as well. "Look, I just wanted to say, you know… I know it sucks." She lifts one shoulder. "But like Finn's a really good guy, so if you just give it some time, he'll be okay. And also," she blinks a few times, "Puck's a good friend to have when you really need one."

Rachel stares at her and says nothing. Then she nods blankly.

"I mean, like I don't know what happened or whatever, obviously, but I mean, I get it." Quinn bites down on her lip a little bit and then kind of shakes her head. "And I know it sucks, but it doesn't last forever."

Rachel doesn't know what to say. She's shocked, honestly _shocked, _and all she can manage is a mumbled, "Thanks…"

Quinn still looks completely uncomfortable and just sort of shrugs and says, "Yeah. So… See you," before walking off.

Rachel still just stands there. And, pardon her French, but she feels totally _mind-fucked _by Quinn, who just happens to be her own fated PIC's baby mama and her (ex)boyfriend's ex-girlfriend. There's just a little bit _way too much _incestuous history going on there. She stops herself immediately, realizing that 'mind-fucked,' 'PIC,' and 'baby mama' have all somehow become normal enough to slip into her every day thoughts.

She _really _needs to stop spending so much time with him.

The next afternoon, she finds herself in glee sitting at the edge of the group with Puck on her right and three seats between him and Tina. They are, it seems, officially ostracized. She isn't surprised, and she finds that she doesn't care as much as she thought she would. The room is tense. The air actually _feels _tense. Rachel doesn't have to look around to know that everyone is glaring at _somebody. _It isn't all just directed at Puck and her, either (though the vast majority of it is). She realizes that her revelation from the day before is very true.

There is just way too much _incest _going on in this glee club.

Incest, of course, is a very strongly exaggerated word choice, but Mr. Schuester is always going on and on about how they're a _family, _so maybe it's not so over the top. But seriously, there is not one person in this room who has not dated and/or slept with somebody else in this room. Even _Kurt_ tried to get it on with Brittany for a few days. _(Get it on? _Seriously, who _is _she?) It's sort of ridiculous when she thinks about it, especially considering the fact that several people in here have engaged in some sort of relationship with _multiple _members of the team. Herself included. But the entire club is caught up in it- it reaches a lot further than the love square she's recently found herself involved in with Finn, Puck, and Quinn. She begrudgingly acknowledges that maybe it's more of a pentagon if you add in Santana…

Mr. Schue tries to get them to overlook the obvious tension in the room and forces them to go through vocal warm-ups that, Rachel notices, only about half the members actually participate in. Puck is not one of them, and she wants to stomp on his foot and force him to sing, but she doesn't have it in her. It's not unusual anyway. Half of these people _don't _participate on a regular basis, but even when she pointed this out to Mr. Schuester last year and made a point to call out all the slackers, things stayed the same.

Practice is weird and strained, and even Mr. Schuester giving them a 'pep-talk' about team spirit and focus and a bunch of crap like that can't make anyone seem happy. Rachel, though, is determined not to be affected. This whole thing might be her fault, and everyone in here might hate her, but she will _not _let that affect the one extracurricular activity she actually gives a damn about. She is serious about making Nationals before she graduates, and if she has to smile in the face of every one of these jerks, she'll do it, and she'll do it happily. As long as they can win.

They've been narrowing down their set list for Sectionals, and they've been stuck on an arrangement of "Livin' on a Prayer," and Rachel thinks it's one of the best things they've done in a _long _time. She's actually really excited about it and thinks that if they actually focus on songs they actually plan on _doing, _they've got a real shot of taking things further this year.

They stand up to rehearse, and Rachel takes her place in the center. They're still working out the choreography, but they've got most of the blocking down. She isn't the only one who notices, though, that she's standing in the middle alone. Finn hasn't left his seat and doesn't appear to have any inclination to do so. He's just still sitting there with his arms crossed looking angry and dejected.

She doesn't know whether to be surprised. She isn't shocked, she supposes, given the fact that she _has _just recently ripped his heart out. It's not a total surprise that he'd be less than eager to sing with her. On the other hand, this isn't a joke. They need to be _serious _about preparing for Sectionals, and they should at least be able to separate their love lives from their professional lives, and in eleventh grade, glee club is about as _professional _as they're going to get. Or at least as professional as _she's _going to get.

She crosses her arms and says nothing.

"Finn," Mr. Schue breaks in, "let's go."

Finn doesn't move. He also doesn't say anything. He's got enough minions to speak for him.

"Can you blame him for not throwing himself into a duet with the hussy who broke his heart?"

Rachel's head whips around at exactly the same time she hears, "Shut your fucking mouth, Hummel, or I'll fucking shut it for you!" Puck looks seriously scary, like maybe he's actually gone crazy or, more likely, is just angry and is just _looking _for a reason to beat someone up. She's pretty sure it's the second one.

Kurt opens his mouth like he's going to say something back, but then he shuts it because he's obviously scared. He should be, given the fact that Puck could probably choke the life out of him with very little effort. Rachel doesn't normally condone violence, but at the moment, she'd really like to see the little bastard with a black eye. At least. It would totally throw off his liner/mascara combo.

Mr. Schuester, though, is not apparently not going to allow anymore fights in his choir room. For at least another year probably- there's always next year's Sectionals… He steps in and holds up his hands in what he obviously thinks is an effective way to stop the brewing violence that is begging to occur at any second.

"_Stop it," _he says in his teacher voice. "Look, I know you guys are going through a lot, and I know that some less than ideal situations have recently been thrust upon this club, but-"

"Less than _ideal?" _Now it's Mercedes who decides to run her mouth. "Mr. Schue, this is ridiculous! How do you expect any of us to concentrate on anything when it's like Babygate 2.0 up in here? Only scarier!"

Rachel rolls her eyes. She can't help it. And apparently Puck is just not in the mood to let _anything _go.

"Maybe if you kept your fucking nose out of other people's business, you could concentrate on whatever the hell you wanted to. Especially since it's got nothing to fucking _do _with you!"

"Puck! Seriously. Calm down." Mr. Schue looks like he's getting nervous, which would be a smart emotion, considering the fact that if things keep pushing, they're going to get to a point that he _definitely _won't be able to control.

Everyone is whispering now, and Rachel just stands there. Normally, she thinks she'd feel really small and upset, but right now, she just feels angry. It's like there's a fuse inside of her that's just been lit, and she can feel it slowly starting to spark. She keeps her arms crossed tightly and tries to control it, knowing that if she starts, she's not going to want to stop.

She's vaguely aware of Puck and Mr. Schue arguing, and even though she doesn't focus on the words, she knows that Puck is _seriously _pissed off and is at the point where he doesn't care _what _comes out of his mouth. Mr. Schuester continues to look nervous as he apparently tries to reason with him or something. Brittany and Santana have apparently checked out of the conversation altogether and are doing some Cheerios dance in the corner. Mike and Matt look worried but aren't saying anything. Kurt and Mercedes are huddled with Tina and Artie, and all of them look angry and smug, though Tina keeps glancing around with something less malicious. Quinn's gone over to Finn and is saying something that he isn't really responding to.

It's complete chaos.

"Okay!" Mr. Schue finally says loudly, and it's enough to get everyone's attention. At least momentarily. Everyone stops and looks at him, and he sighs and shakes his head. "Obviously this isn't going to work."

Someone mutters, _"Clearly!" _but Rachel neither knows nor cares who it is.

"We have Sectionals in just a few weeks, and we need to be on top of our game." Rachel nods, agreeing for once with what her teacher has to say. "If we can't work together, we're not going to succeed."

She agrees wholeheartedly. Regardless of what is going on outside in the real world, in _here, _they need to be a team. She and Finn need to put aside whatever else is going on and be the captains and the _leads _because this, in here, isn't about them. It's about the _team. _She's glad Mr. Schuester is reminding everyone what is actually important.

"So we have to make this work," he goes on. "Finn, come on. Tina, see if you can handle the female lead."

No one says anything. Seriously. There's complete silence, and Rachel isn't even sure if she's in real life now or if this is just some insane dream. _Nightmare. _She's pretty sure that her mouth has literally dropped open, and if it weren't for the fact that Mr. Schuester looks _totally _nervous and uncomfortable, she wouldn't believe she actually heard him correctly.

There have been plenty of times that this man has tried to sabotage her career and ruin her life. That is nothing new. What _is _new is him trying to do it in such an obvious way. There is no badly veiled attempt at a teaching moment here. This isn't about trying to give everyone a shot or teaching her how to share. This is just downright obvious _favoritism. _And she isn't sure she can deal with that without making a scene.

If he felt the need to rearrange the solos (and really, there is no need- he could have just told Finn to suck it up and be a man), there is no reason why _she _should be the one with the lead ripped from her. Number One: _She _is the one who was willing to be a team player and put the differences aside. And Number Two: She is _better _than Finn. She is better than _all _of them!

"I quit," she says loudly, surprising even herself when the words actually leave her mouth. It's not the first time she's said it, but it's the first time she's _meant _it.

"Rachel…"

"This is unfair and _ridiculous!" _she says loudly, shocked at how easily her voice rises. "You're a _teacher, _not my father! You're not allowed to punish me for things that have nothing to do with school and certainly nothing to do with glee!"

"Rachel." Mr. Schuester seems incapable of forming any words other than her name. He looks worried and maybe (possibly, but probably not) a little ashamed.

"I am sick of this," she says lowly. "I don't deserve this, and I'm not going to just stand around and take it anymore."

She doesn't know what's gotten into her, but she feels like that spark has just exploded. Everyone is looking at her in shock, and she has to literally bite her tongue to keep from telling every single one of them exactly what she thinks.

There's one she can't resist, though. And after she stomps back to her chair and grabs her bag, she makes a pitstop at one of her teammates. Kurt looks at her with something that might be challenging but is probably just smugness that she's finally gone off the deep end. She doesn't care.

"And did you _really _call me a hussy?" she demands. She doesn't wait for him to answer. "You should be happy. He's wide open now, go take your fucking c_hance!" _She waves a hand in Finn's direction to demonstrate exactly who the _him _is and doesn't even care that she's just used the F word so freely and carelessly. Kurt's cheeks heat up and his jaw clenches. He can't say anything because his voice would crack and give him away.

Rachel doesn't bother giving her opinion to anyone else. She just stalks from the room with her head held high, determined to keep as much of her dignity as she possibly can. She doesn't think she's ever felt so angry in her entire life, and she has _no _idea what demon has possessed her and turned her into this person. She also doesn't care.

She makes it almost to the end of the hallway when she hears feet running after her. She knows who it is without turning around. At least she knows who she _hopes _it is.

"Whoa, Rach. Badass."

She smiles despite herself, and they stop when they make it to the double glass doors. She turns around, and Puck looks seriously amused. Or maybe impressed. Or maybe both. It doesn't matter.

"I think I've lost my mind."

He shakes his head. "I think you finally found it."

She shouldn't be smiling, but she is. It's ridiculous, but she honestly feels as if some huge weight has just been lifted off of her. She's never felt more in control of something in her entire life, and it feels _good. _

"I think you might have caused a few heart attacks back there." He reaches for her bag and she lets him take it as she pushes out into the parking lot.

Without missing a beat, she says exactly what's on her mind. "Fuck them."

He smirks, and so does she. And that one sentence is evident of everything she needs to know.

She's officially gone over to the Dark Side. It's pretty awesome.

… … …

A/N: Thanks for reading, and, of course, thanks for all the reviews!


	9. Chapter 9

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

Though she has never had any real girlfriends, Rachel _has _spent a good amount of time over the last year or so with various boys. And by various, of course, she means with three boys. Which isn't a lot, but after sixteen years of just her and the dads, it _is _a lot. They're all so different, though- those boys. It's fascinating.

Finn has always charmed her with a cute smile and sweetness. His innocence is what makes him most attractive, and she thinks that the dopey dumbness probably doesn't hurt. He's an idiot, but he's so _nice _that it's impossible not to be charmed. She rates nice very near the top of her list, so there's no surprise really that he's the one who caught her eye first and that he's the one who managed to keep it.

Jesse, though… Jesse was all _talent. _And if nice is very high on the list, talent is the one thing that trumps it. And _wow, _does Jesse have talent… No matter how it all turned out in the end, Rachel can't deny that she was mesmerized and completely enthralled by every second she spent with Jesse St. James. It was a whirlwind spring romance full of music and drama and more than enough passion. She'd never met anyone like him before. She isn't sure she ever will again. It was amazing. He broke her heart, though, and she doesn't think she'll probably ever know exactly why. It doesn't matter, though- California is a long way away, and the world's just not that small. So instead, she just keeps the memories of laughing and singing "Hello Twelve, Hello Thirteen, Hello Love" in her bedroom (complete with, yes, a little bit of _show me yours, I'll show you mine_…) and watching him play the most beautiful music she'd ever heard (or probably will ever hear) on the piano in his uncle's living room. People like she and Jesse are rare, and she knows it's probably not ever going to happen like that again.

And then there's Puck who is so different from both the other ones. His charm isn't innocence (there's _nothing_ innocent about him) or pure, unbridled talent (though, of course, he _is _rather talented on his own). His charm lies in the fact that he just doesn't c_are. _Previously, this is something that Rachel has found exhausting about him. His total lack of enthusiasm in anything that doesn't involve sex or blowing things up has never been his most appealing asset. Now, though… now she _gets _it.

Which makes being Badass!Rachel maybe the best thing that's ever happened to her.

As a badass, she gets to do all kinds of things she never got to do before. It's like a whole new world has opened up, and while, yes, it's a world of juvenile delinquency and debauchery, it's also sort of epic. That's why she tells him one day, "Teach me everything you know." And he laughs at her because obviously she's being overdramatic (Badass!Rachel doesn't change Real!Rachel, so it's not like she can help it). He agrees to corrupt her, though, on the condition that she not change her mind halfway through and "pussy out."

There is a problem, of course, lying in the fact that badass lessons while being grounded are sort of difficult. She cures this by pulling out all the stops and crying in her room for literally three hours one day. When her dads come to check on her, she sobs about how she's so depressed and how her heart is broken and a bunch of other stuff that is true but not necessarily tear-worthy (at least not right then). They take pity on her and reduce her sentencing because they tell her she needs to spend more time with her friends. Of course, she doesn't _have _friends, but she doesn't point this out.

When she shows up at his house later that day and is all smiles and cheeriness, he asks her how she busted out. She tells him about the tears and the feigned heartbreak and he smiles appreciatively and tells her she's already on her way. Lying is always a good trait to have. He calls it lying- she calls it _acting._

They spend a lot of time together for the next week or so, and she gets a crash course in all things badass. She lets him talk her into skipping school _twice _and tells her that now that she's a badass, she won't care so much so she'll be less likely to be caught. His logic is terribly flawed, but for the sake of her new education, she chooses to believe him. And she _doesn't _get caught.

The first time they skip, he takes her back to their abandoned parking lot, and they make out in the cab of his truck for two _hours. _Finn could never make out with her for that long. She tells Puck this, and he looks a little bit smug. It kind of makes her want to find out how much longer the other stuff would last, too. She expects a lot longer than six minutes, which holds the record.

The second time they skip, he takes her back to his house and forces her to watch 'badass movies.' They involve lots of violence, lots of explosions, and lots of female nudity. She isn't sure that they're cinematic treasures or anything, but she learns to appreciate them. She especially appreciates the way they end up making out on his couch before the credits ever roll.

They start spending a _lot _of time together, and she worries a little bit that maybe he's annoyed. He doesn't seem to be, though, and when she doesn't text him to come pick her up, he shows up on his own. One night, she watches him steal from 7-11. She's a little bit nervous because shoplifting is real _crime, _but he hisses at her to be cool, so she obeys. He steals beer and beef jerky and a pack of Twizzlers. She thinks it's so random that she actually _eats _the Twizzlers later and doesn't even mind the sugar. Or, you know, the crime.

She smokes her first joint on a Tuesday. And by smokes, she means she has approximately five hits off of it and isn't even sure if she inhales the first two correctly. It's enough, though. He smokes the rest and watches her with what she guesses has to be amusement when she starts talking about really important things. And she _loves _him so much that night that she begs him to go back to 7-11 and steal her some more candy. He just laughs and hands her a bag of Fritos. She eats the whole thing. Halfway through the chips, she asks him where he gets his "stash," as he so lovingly calls it and he tells her that Mr. Ryerson is an undercover pot dealer. Seriously? If Rachel weren't high, she would probably be a little bit more careful about revealing the fact that she got Mr. Ryerson fired. Most people don't really find lying about (or at least exaggerating) sexual abuse accusations to be very becoming, but it's Puck, and he just cracks up and tells her that maybe she's always been a little badass.

When Friday arrives, there's no football game and he drops her off at her house after school with a warning that if he has to suffer through Shabbat services tonight that she better bring her ass along. She laughs and promises that she will because it's not like she has any other plans on a Friday night, and she's sick and tired of being sick and tired. She's done with the whole depressed thing because… it's _high school, _and maybe it _really doesn't matter. _

Finn still isn't talking to her, and if she happens to see him, he still looks at her like she broke his heart. And maybe that's true. She's had her heart broken. It hurts. But what can she do? Change the past? No. It happened. Now it's done with, and there's nothing she can do about it. It's very liberating to finally realize all of these things- to accept that the past can't be changed and to just stop trying. She is sorry, _very sorry, _for what happened, but she can't force Finn into talking to her, and she definitely can't force him into forgiving her. She isn't even sure if she deserves forgiveness anyway. She stopped calling him after the second day, and now she's just handed it over to fate. If he wants to talk to her, he'll call. She hasn't changed her number despite the random blocked calls and texts she's received that call her rather less than desirable things. He can get in touch with her if he wants, and she'll answer if he does. Until then, though, there's no point in drowning in despair.

She goes to temple with her dads that night and ends up spending most of the night trying to stop Puck and his little sister from killing each other. She sits with them towards the back, and none of them pay especially close attention to the service. Rachel sits in between them and is positive that if it weren't for the fact that there was a body in between them, one of them would be dead already. She spends the whole time slapping their hands away from each other and shooting them death glares when they start whispering less than nice things in the other's direction. She feels like a mother. In fact, she thinks someone should send their mother flowers or bake her a cake or something. Because this? Is ridiculous. She sees their mom sitting up closer to the front with some of her friends. Every once in awhile, she'll turn her head around to check on her kids and instead of glaring at them with warning looks, she just smiles and turns back around. Rachel doesn't get it. At all.

It takes forever to actually _leave _temple because everyone wants to stand around and socialize. Also, Oneg Shabbat always follows the actual service, so there's food and talking (gossiping), and really, it's not all that bad. She spends that time with the Puckerman kids as well, and they all laugh and joke about needing to protect Rachel from Jacob Ben-Israel who has been leering at her the entire time. Rachel half-expects him to pull a camera out and start snapping pictures to post on his blog. She hasn't read it, but she's quite sure his blog is _very _heavily devoted to her current social scandal. Her being here with Puck and his sister is just fuel for his fire, she's sure. No one thinks this sudden alliance is particularly odd because there really _aren't _that many children or teenagers in attendance. It's sort of natural that they would gravitate towards (or away from, in Jacob's case) each other.

Bekah's got Rachel's hand is twirling herself under her arm over and over again. Rachel just lets her and whispers with Puck in speculation as to whether Mrs. Wasserman is having an affair with the recently single Mr. Kallenbach. Rachel hadn't considered it until he brought it up, mentioning that they "totally look like they're fucking." Since his crude observation, though, she's been watching them closely and is starting to agree. Eventually Bekah tires of twirling, lets go of Rachel's hand, and goes over to wrap both of her arms around her brother's waist. Her head drops to his chest, and her eyes close like she's about to fall asleep standing up or something. Puck doesn't seem fazed at all and barely seems to even notice. He just puts a hand on her back and manages to keep her on her feet as he carries on the conversation about the alleged affair they're cooking up in their heads.

Rachel sees her dads glance over in her direction a few times, but she isn't sure if they suspect anything or not. If they do, they certainly don't make a big deal about it, unlike Mrs. Puckerman who Rachel suddenly suspects might be planning a wedding in her head at this very moment. She seems especially happy about _something, _and Rachel guesses that it has to do with more than the fact that her children are actually being _nice _to each other at the moment. She glances at Puck who seems to notice his mom's smile as well and rolls his eyes so far into the back of his head that she thinks they might get stuck. Suddenly, the fact that Mrs. Puckerman is far more trusting than she should be in regards to Rachel starts to make sense, as does her son's comment that it isn't about trust and that his mom just likes her nose.

Mrs. Puckerman really, really _needs _a Jewish daughter-in-law. And there aren't a whole lot for her to choose from…

This idea shocks Rachel a little bit, and she gets sort of uncomfortable. "What does your mom think is going on?" she whispers, looking up at Puck who is still rolling his eyes.

"Who the fuck knows? She's fucking crazy."

In all honesty, _Rachel _isn't completely sure what's going on. She hasn't put much thought into it because overanalyzing situations is the _old _Rachel, and Badass!Rachel is supposed to just go with the flow. It's not like they're dating or anything. They just hang out. And _make _out. A lot. But that doesn't _mean _anything. It just means that he's a really, _really _good kisser and that she's sixteen and hormonal and has a biological _right _to like it.

They're friends. At least she's pretty sure they are. He jokes with her, and they call each other and text a lot. He talks to her at school and sits with her at lunch. He takes her to school and brings her home whenever he can. He's still got football, but now that they've both quit glee, they have a lot more free time. He still takes up for her if anybody tries to say anything to her. He smashed Karofsky's face in one day when a particularly unflattering drawing appeared on her locker. Rachel finds that she doesn't really mind violence all that much when it's aimed at people dead set on tormenting her and making her miserable. It's nice to have someone sticking up for her. But still, that doesn't define whatever it is that's going on here, and she's really okay with that. She doesn't _need_ it to be anything.

"You wanna fuck with her?" Puck's voice is low in her ear, and she looks up at him just in time to see a very mischievous smirk before he leans down and kisses her quickly.

She pulls right away, her cheeks heating up as she looks around frantically to see who's watching. Turns out, not too many people are paying attention, his mom, of course, and one teenage gossip-monger excepted. "What are you doing?" Rachel hisses, and Bekah leans her head straight up to see what's going on.

"Fucking with her," Puck says shrugging. "Give her something to dream about and that Jewfro freak something to write about."

He's still smirking at her, and she can't help but mirror it. He's right, of course. If people are going to talk anyway, they might as well give them something to talk about. Still, she isn't too into his mom thinking it's something more than it is, especially since _that _little bit of news will reach her dads more quickly than she cares for it to.

"Stop caring," he tells her, once again reading her mind. "Badass, remember? Let them wonder."

She smiles and nods and looks up just in time to see Mrs. Puckerman approaching them. She is clearly trying to hide her smile, but she is doing a horrible job of it. Rachel tries to look as unfazed as possible. Puck pulls the look off flawlessly, and she wonders if that means he's a better actor than she is. No, probably just a better liar.

"Well, I think it's time to go," Mrs. Puckerman says pointedly. "Noah, you can take Rachel home. Come on, Bekah." She puts a hand on Bekah's shoulder and attempts to pull her away, but Rebekah just clings tighter and shakes her head.

"I want to go with them," she argues. Her mom is having none of it.

"Come on," she says firmly. "They have things to do."

Rachel raises her eyebrows because she doesn't know what _things _his mom thinks they have to do, but they really have nothing. Or at least they have no specific plans. Bekah pouts but lets go when Puck pushes her forehead and says, "Yeah, fuck off."

"Watch your mouth!" his mom hisses automatically, and she looks around to see if anyone else is hearing her son's foul mouth. "This is a place of worship!"

Puck just rolls his eyes a little bit but nods. Rachel tries not to smile, and she hugs Rebekah to try to make the younger girl feel better. Then they're left alone, and Puck just smiles at her in a way that lets her know she's about to be in for another lessons in badassness.

"Go tell your dads you're taking off," he tells her, not even bothering to ask if she _wants _to go anywhere with him. She does want to, though, so there's no point in even making that argument. She finds her dads and tells them that she'll be home later, and they tell her to be careful and not to be too late. They don't normally say things like, "Be careful," because she's always careful. Apparently, though, finding out that her new playmate is a formerly Mohawked, sixteen year old baby daddy with a juvie record for vandalism makes them a little bit more concerned for her safety.

She gets into his truck with no real idea where they're going or what they're going to do. Surprisingly, she isn't all that worried. There's something about him that she's come to trust explicitly. She isn't one-hundred percent positive that this is the smartest mind-frame to be in, but she really feels like he's her friend. And she's never had too many of those.

He ends up taking her to the liquor store, and she watches in amazement how easy it is for him to just stop a woman walking in and charm her a little bit. He slips her a twenty, leans against the truck and waits for about five minutes before she comes back out with a paper bag and a smile that's really inappropriate for the obvious jailbait she's contributing to the delinquency of. Rachel would find it disgusting, but she actually thinks it's pretty awesome.

When he slides back into the truck with her, he passes her the bag, throws the truck in reverse and drives them in the now familiar direction of the creepy old parking lot she's come to think of as "theirs." As he drives, she takes the bottle out of the bag and sees that it's vodka and not the nice, expensive kind that her dads sometimes buy. This bottle is plastic and huge and has a price sticker that reads $13.99. She doesn't imagine that it's exactly top shelf.

"We can't just drink this by itself," she says, and he looks over at her, obviously a little surprised that she's so willingly embracing the notion of engaging in underage drinking with him. She's a little bit surprised, too, but she figures that if he's already got her to marijuana, vodka shouldn't be that big of a surprise.

"Relax, babe," he says breezily as he pulls the truck into the parking lot of a 7-11. "I got this."

She once again waits in the truck until he comes back out with a two four packs of Red Bull and a super sized bag of Twizzlers. She smiles at him as he passes all of that over to her as well. "Did you steal this?"

"If I stole it, it wouldn't be in a bag, Rachel."

And that's how she ends up getting drunk for the first time in her life.

She's had alcohol before- sips here and there. She's never been drunk, though. She's also never drank so much Red Bull in her life, either. She finds that maybe it's not the best beverage for her to over-indulge in, given the fact that she's already rather hyper as it is. She also eats nearly the entire bag of Twizzlers, which only adds to the sugar high. She goes so overboard with it that she stops realizing that Red Bull just tastes like urine and that vodka is like fire going down her throat. They both actually start to taste _good, _especially when she mixes them together by taking a drink from the vodka and then taking a drink of Red Bull and swishing them around in her mouth. Puck tells her that she makes the "ghettoest" mixed drinks he's ever seen in his life, but she just laughs and offers him a piece of licorice.

She notices that he doesn't actually get drunk, which is a good thing because she knows drunk driving is bad, and she's not _stupid. _She doesn't think calling her dads out here to the middle of nowhere to pick her up while she's wasted would really help with the whole trust thing, so she's thankful that he has enough sense not to follow her lead. It seems like his entire goal, though, is to get her drunk anyway. And although he does drink a little, he seems much more intent on getting her loaded up instead.

It feels good to just have zero inhibitions and just not _care _about anything. She feels everything slip away from her, and it's a feeling that she really, really likes. She also decides that she really, really likes the boy who brought her out here and supplied her with cheap liquor and high energy drinks and vegan-friendly candy. And when she climbs into his lap and starts sucking on his neck, she isn't surprised when he doesn't push her away. She knows better than to let herself get _too _into it, though, because she has trouble enough stopping when she's completely sober. She knows that with her brain clouded by alcohol, she's at high risk to make even stupider decisions.

Still, a little bit of fun won't hurt.

They haven't done much beyond just making out since that very first night. They get into a little bit of groping here and there, but they're both very aware of where things need to stop and, so far, they've done a good job of following this. At the moment, though, Rachel just wants to see his chest. She wants to see the chest and the abs and the nipple ring and the arms and all the other stuff she knows is hidden under there and unhealthy for her inebriated state. He doesn't fight her, though, when she grabs the bottom of his shirt and pulls it over his head. He doesn't even look to make sure that she puts it somewhere safe, and she's pretty sure she drops it somewhere off the side of the truck onto the pavement. He neither notices nor cares, and he lets her push him backwards until he's actually laid out in the bed of his truck looking up at her. She's still straddling his hips, and she takes a second to draw in everything she wanted to see in the first place. Really, as much of an asshole as he is, this sort of body should be illegal or something.

He knows she's staring, and he seems highly amused by this. He also seems rather unfazed, and she figures this is probably because _every_ girl who sees him shirtless takes a few seconds to ogle. "You can stop staring now," he says quietly, but he's smiling and it makes her smile right before she leans over him kisses him.

She likes the way he tastes now. She's used to it, and she no longer tastes even the slightest hint of bitterness. Maybe she's moved past the bitter stage, or maybe she just doesn't care anymore. He tastes like freedom to her, which is something she desperately wants. And she likes the little hum in his throat when her tongue takes its time exploring and tasting every inch of his mouth. Mostly, though, she likes how confident he is in every single thing that he does. His kisses are full of expertise, and his hands never just accidentally brush up against something unintentionally. Every move he makes has a purpose and a destination, and she _likes _that.

Her fingertips are digging into his shoulders, and the feel of hard muscle there is very inviting. His own hands have got a firm grip on her hips but when she purposely leans even further over, she feels them slide around to the back of her thighs and then up higher. She doesn't mind. In fact, it makes her really glad that she didn't dress more warmly, despite the fall evening. She isn't cold, though. The alcohol is making her warm, and he's making her hot. She's okay.

They make out for what seems to be a reallylong time, and Rachel is seriously shocked when he finally pushes her away and sits up and calls an end to it. Her first instinct is to argue because she wants him _really _badly, and she could tell from her position over him just seconds ago that he _really _wants her, too. But maybe that's the best reason of all to stop. Because they still don't know what they are, and they're already blurring all kinds of lines. And she's still very drunk.

"You're really hot," she tells him seriously, and then she giggles because hearing the words actually out loud is a lot dumber than hearing them in her head.

He smiles at her, though, and she knows he's humoring her because she's intoxicated. He just nods a little and says, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She should stop talking, but she can't.

Sitting up on her knees, though, she realizes that her head is not feeling so pleasant right at the moment. She isn't surprised because between the amount of sugar and alcohol she's consumed, it would be a miracle if she _didn't _have a headache. "I need some Tylenol," she announces, moving over to the edge of the tailgate and lowering herself so that she can go back into the truck for her purse.

She doesn't expect to fall straight over in this attempt.

The shock of hitting the pavement makes her eyes go wide, but she's not sure if she actually registers any pain. She lands flat on her butt and just sits there in shock. Puck jumps down right beside her immediately and asks, "Shit, are you okay?" right before she giggles loudly.

He stares at her and then laughs a little, too, when it seems that she isn't dying. "You need to be careful," he tells her, standing up and pulling her along with him.

"I didn't know it was so far down," she explains, looking back at the tailgate, which seems much higher off the ground than usual.

He isn't paying attention to what she's saying, though. Instead, he's got one hand holding her up and the other turning her around to lift up the back of her skirt. At first, she thinks he wants to make out again, but then she realizes that he's staring at her legs.

"You kinda scraped the shit outta your thighs," he says, and he sounds a little worried. Rachel cranes her head backwards to look for herself and sees that, as far as she can tell, they _are _pretty skinned up.

"Damn," she says seriously.

For some reason, this makes him laugh, and he looks at her in the eye. "You didn't feel that?"

She shakes her head. She still doesn't feel it. It must not matter.

"You will later," he tells her, and she shrugs. Then she stands up on her tiptoes and kisses him again, glad that he's still got a good enough grip on her to keep her upright instead of toppling over.

When she pulls away, she makes good on her mission to get the Tylenol but realizes there's nothing to chase it with besides Vodka or Red Bull. She hears Puck say that neither is probably a good choice, but she doesn't listen to reason and stumbles around to the back of the truck to pick up a half-empty Red Bull and swallow the pill.

He's sitting on the edge of the tailgate again and shakes his head wordlessly. She smiles and moves to stand between his own thighs as she wraps her arms around his neck and stares at him. She smiles, and he mirrors her in an almost disbelieving sort of way.

"You are fully shit-faced," he tells her seriously. She just shrugs and kisses him again.

It doesn't take too long of standing in an upright position and making out with him for her stomach to finally start hurting. She doesn't know what time it is, but she figures it's close to whatever her parents consider "too late." She doesn't want to go, though. She wants to spend all night out here like this.

"What's wrong?" he asks quietly when she stops responding. He pulls back a little and kisses her cheek as she frowns.

"My stomach feels like crap," she tells him.

"You should puke," he tells her like it's the simplest thing in the world. "It'll make you feel better."

She shakes her head and wrinkles her nose.

"You need to sober up a little bit anyway," he tells her, keeping both hands locked around her waist. "We gotta go soon, and if I take you back to your house like this, your dads are gonna kick my ass."

"Take me to your house." She doesn't know why she says it, but she finds herself serious.

"If I take you back to _my _house like this, my mom will kick my ass. I don't need my ass kicked tonight, babe."

"I just feel sick." She feels like pouting like a child, and she's surprised to find that her lower lip is actually protruding a little bit.

"Just make yourself throw up. It'll help, I promise."

"I can't."

He rolls his eyes. "Stick your fucking finger down your throat and puke. It's not that hard."

She gets huffy and pulls back more, narrowing her eyes. "I _can't," _she repeats heatedly.

"It's not that bad."

"I _can't, _I don't have a gag reflex."

He stares at her with the weirdest look in the world for what seems like a full twenty minutes but is probably just twenty seconds in drunk time. Then he shakes his head rapidly. "What in the _fucking _hellis coming out of your mouth right now, woman?"

She looks at him in confusion. She doesn't get it, but then she does. And she finds that rolling her eyes really hurts right now. "Stop," she tells him, pushing him back with one hand but stumbling in the process. That seems to snap him out of his teenage boy fantasy, and he hops down and grabs her before she falls.

"Look," he says seriously. "Let's play an acting game."

"What acting game?"

"You need to act real sober, can you do that?"

She nods.

"Okay, let me see."

She takes a deep breath, purses her lips and stares at him seriously. She focuses fully on not swaying and not losing her footing. It lasts for about ten seconds, and then she giggles loudly.

"You gotta do better than that, Rach," he tells her, shaking his head in disappointment. "Or else you're never going to make it as an actress."

This gets her attention, and she opens her mouth to tell him that she is very accomplished as an actress and that he has no room to judge her because he knows exactly jackshit about the performing arts. She decides to just show him instead.

This time her sober act lasts for a good two minutes, during which she proceeds to tell him that she is _just fine _and that she is _not _drunk and that she is perfectly capable of handling herself. Apparently it works because he smiles and slaps her a high-five.

"Awesome."

She somehow finds herself back in the cab of the truck and sees him cleaning up the back, getting rid of the evidence she supposes. She sees him slide back into the driver's side, and he fills her in as they drive back toward her house.

"Now you need to keep that shit up like for the rest of the night, okay? Don't like break character or anything because you don't want to fuck up your acting reputation, right? Just go in, do the sober routine if you see your dads, and then go up and go to bed. You need your beauty rest."

"Are you calling me ugly?" she turns her head sharply and looks at him, but he just laughs and shakes his head.

"No, girl. Beautiful people just have to take extra special measures to keep it up, right?"

She can tell in the back of her head that he is humoring her and patronizing her for the sake of her drunken state. She doesn't really mind that much. He lets her pick the music, and she rests her head against the window and listens to the radio while she prepares herself for the upcoming acting experience that she knows is really important. He pulls up in front of her house and helps her straighten out her clothes and smooth down her hair before reaching over her and pushing the door open. He kisses her cheek and keeps a hand gripped tightly on her upper arm until she's safely on the ground and on her feet.

"Remember," he tells her seriously before letting go. "Don't break character. No matter what."

She nods once and smiles. "Right."

It turns out that her dads are already in bed so it doesn't even matter. She takes his advice, though, and goes straight to bed. It's easy to fall asleep despite the amount of sugar and caffeine she's consumed in the past few hours.

The next morning, she wakes up feeling gross and nauseous with the worst headache ever. She can also feel the back of her legs throbbing from where she fell the night before. It's horrible, and she squints in the sunlight before sitting up and reaching for her phone to check the time. The light's flashing, and she's got a one sentence text message waiting for her.

"_I think maybe we maxed out your badass, sunshine."_

Even though she feels like utter crap, she still smiles a little bit. She thinks he's probably right.

… … …

A/N: This chapter is brought to you by the "Hello Twelve, Hello Thirteen, Hello Love," Jesse/Rachel duet that somehow didn't make the editing cut. Damn you, Ryan Murphy, I better see this on the DVD! (PS- Jesse, love of my life, please come back soon). Thanks for reading, and especially thanks for the ton of reviews on the last chapter! You guys are awesome.


	10. Chapter 10

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

Rachel's in her bedroom doing Spanish homework because, she's noticed, Mr. Schuester is totally grading her more harshly since she quit glee. Her grades are still fine because there's only so much that he can stretch, but she knows he's counting off on things that he lets slide with everyone else. If she cared to speak to him, she would bring it up. However, she doesn't really want to have any sort of conversation with him, so she just starts paying extra close to her assignments so that he has no room to mark her off on stupid things.

She hears the doorbell ring and knows that her dad's downstairs and will answer it. She barely pays any attention to it and just stays focused on her conjugation assignment when she hears her dad call up the stairs to her. Whoever's at the door is for her obviously, and since only one person speaks to her, she already knows who it is. Puck just dropped her off an hour ago, though, so she's surprised to see him back already, especially since he didn't even text her to let her know she was coming over. Oh, well. She pushes herself off of her bed and heads downstairs. Maybe he's come over to work on Spanish- after all, they _do _have a big test coming up. She knows the chances of that are very slim, though. In fact, they're probably nonexistent.

When she gets to the bottom of the stairs, though, it's not Puck she sees standing in her living room- it's Finn. He looks uncomfortable and barely even meets her eye when she enters the room. Her dad is still standing there, and he looks between the two of them a couple of times and then leaves them alone to stand in strange silence. Rachel doesn't know if she's supposed to say something. After all, _he's _the one who has shown up unannounced with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. They haven't spoken in three weeks, so she's a little surprised to see him just randomly appear in her living room, and she doesn't know what the proper greeting is in this situation.

Finally, though, Finn speaks. And, "Umm… Hey," gets them absolutely nowhere. Rachel just stares at him, letting him know that if he wants something accomplished, he's going to need to come up with something a little bit better than that. He seems to realize this as well, and shifts his weight awkwardly. "Can we talk?"

These are words that she's been waiting to hear for three weeks now. It surprises her a little that they don't make her feel as ecstatic as she thought they would. She starts to motion toward the couch, but she's very well aware of the fact that her father is in the next room and is _not _above eavesdropping. This conversation will probably be much safer in a room with a door. So she motions her head, and he follows her upstairs to her bedroom.

It's weird, and they both know it. He can feel it, and so can she. They've spent a lot of time together in this room, and now that they're broken up, it seems like the memories are haunting them- like she's got ghosts of past-hookups hiding in her closet and behind her vanity. It's stupid, of course, but that's what it feels like, and she knows he feels it, too.

"So," he says, and his voice sounds weird like he isn't sure what he's planning on saying. "How are things?"

"They're the same." This is a lie. Things aren't the same. Things are _very _different. She's got a friend now- a friend who treats her like a real teenager and not like some freak of nature. She's done things in the past three weeks that she never even dreamed about before, and she's sort of liked every second of it. It's nice to have a friend, she realizes, but she doesn't say any of this. That explanation would not go over well at the moment, and she knows it.

They stare at each other and say nothing, and then he says something she doesn't exactly expect to hear right now. "Rachel, I'm sorry."

It catches her off-guard because she's fairly positive that in situations where a girl cheats on her boyfriend multiple times with his best friend, it's usually _she _who has to do the apologizing. Of course, Finn isn't the brightest crayon in the box, so maybe he missed that memo. Still, she isn't going to just sit there and let him apologize when _she's _the one who messed up. She's not that horrible of a person.

"It was my fault."

But Finn shakes his head, and he looks sad and dejected and miserable. And she really hates when he looks like that. "I know why you did it," he says quietly.

She stares at him, wondering if he's purposely twisting a knife in her heart but knowing that he's probably far too naïve to even realize it. She doesn't know what to say, so she just stares at him and waits for him to say something. Anything, really.

"I know, I hurt you first," he goes on, "And I'm sorry."

"Finn, I wasn't trying to _hurt _you," she says honestly. "I didn't… I don't even know why it happened, but I wasn't trying to hurt you, I swear." She's being completely honest, too. She _didn't _want him to be hurt. She never even wanted him to find out. She doesn't say this.

"I'm not mad." He looks down at her carpet, and she feels something in her heart lift a little bit. If he's not mad, then maybe it can all be okay. She wants to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him and promise him that everything is okay. But she doesn't move. Finn can't seem to look her in the eye anymore, and she sees how nervous he is. "I just wish none of this ever happened," he says quietly.

"Me, too."

He looks up, and she sees something like hope there. She feels it, too, and it scares her a little bit. She's had this conversation so many times in her head. She's even rehearsed it in front of her bathroom mirror while blow-drying her hair (she's dramatic- scripts are a necessity of life). But this isn't in the script. This isn't anything like she expected it to be. She expected to grovel and cry and beg for forgiveness, but she's just standing there in her room watching _him _apologize. She doesn't know what to do with it.

"I wish the whole thing…" His voice trails for a few seconds. "I wish the whole Santana thing never happened."

She wishes that, too. More than _anything._

"I wish it had been you," he goes on, and his voice is wavering slightly. His eyes look nervous and upset. "I _wanted _it to be you. That way it would have meant something." A beat passes, and he finishes, "Everything."

She feels tears pulling at the corner of her eyes, and when she feels his arms go around her, she doesn't fight him. He hugs her, and she can't believe how nice it feels to be in his arms and crushed up against his chest. He's so big, and she feels so tiny like this. She's missed it so much, and she feels a couple of tears leak out as she hugs him back.

He's whispering into the top of her hair, and she's taking in every word. "Let's just go back," he pleads. "Let's just forget it." She feels herself nodding, though she isn't sure if it's in agreement or just a natural reaction to his voice. He hugs her, and she feels his lips in her hair, and it kind of makes her shiver a little bit. "I miss you, Rach," he whispers, and she nods again because she misses him, too. She _really _misses him. "Come back to glee."

She freezes. His words seem to slap her right in the face, and she lets go of him and takes a step backwards. She forcefully wills away the tears that are threatening to follow the first few, and she just blinks at him.

"This is about _glee?" _Her voice is low and guarded because she doesn't trust it any other way.

Finn, though, looks a little worried and shakes his head quickly. "No, it's about _us. _But glee is a part of us, and we really need you back."

"I'm not going back to glee," she says flatly, and she suddenly doesn't trust the hurt in his eyes quite as much.

"We need you, Rachel. _I _need you. We can't win without you."

"So don't win."

It's harsher than she means for it to be, but in a way, she thinks it sums up her feelings perfectly. In any case, Finn is looking at her like he can't really believe that she could be so blasé over something as important as _show choir, _but she is. And she isn't sorry.

"Rachel," he says slowly, and she knows he's using her name to buy himself a few seconds to think of his next sentence. She spares him the trouble.

"I'm never going back to glee. You can forget it."

"Why, though?"

"Why _would _I?" She stares at him incredulously, and she's not sure how much of her sudden anger is due to the fact that this isn't the first time he's used this tactic. He's done this before- tricked her back into glee with a smile and fake promises. She doesn't want to fall for it again.

"Because we're your friends. And we miss you." She wonders if he's just completely full of shit or if he's stupid enough to actually believe that. She thinks it might be the second, which makes her head swim.

"Those people are not my friends, Finn." And she means every word of it. "They _hate _me. They're mean to me all the time. They treat me worse than the _rest _of the school does! Not one of those people has my back."

Something on Finn's face changes then, and she watches as it hardens just a little bit. "Oh, but Puck does, right?"

"Yes." She answers immediately because it's the truth. And right now, it's the only thing she's positive she believes.

Finn, though, rolls his eyes. "What is _wrong _with you, Rachel? You're not stupid, why are you falling for this shit?"

"What shit?" And if he's shocked that she's suddenly learned to swear, he doesn't show it.

"_Him!" _Finn shakes his head quickly. "The only reason he's even speaking to you is because everyone else in the whole fucking school hates him!"

"That's not true," she says lowly, feeling her own face harden. "He's my…" she stumbles for a second, "friend."

Finn, though, laughs. _Laughs. _"Puck doesn't _have _friends_," _he says, and it almost sounds condescending. "He has people who are scared of him. Big difference. I'm the only fucking real friend he's ever had, and you know what he did to me? _Twice?"_

"It wasn't his fault." This is one of the parts she's rehearsed. She knows what to say here. "It was my fault. I pushed him into it."

"He's my _best friend, _Rachel!" Now she sees the anger coming out- the anger she expected. It's worse than she thought it would be. "Out of every guy in the world you could have fucked, you had to pick _him?"_

"I didn't!" she says quickly, and then she lowers her voice. "We didn't… It wasn't like that."

He stares at her. He doesn't believe her, she can tell. She isn't surprised.

Finally, Finn just shakes his head. "He doesn't have _friends, _Rachel. He especially doesn't have _girls _who are friends… You wanna be just another number?" He looks a little bit devastated. "Whatever, I guess. I can't stop you. But he doesn't care about you, Rach. _I _do. I _love _you. And you know that."

She doesn't want to cry, but she knows she's going to. She looks away and tries to hide the tears in her eyes, but he can see them. He watches her, and they just stand there in silence for a few moments until he finally leaves. He doesn't say goodbye or anything, and she knows that everything is all up in the air now. It scares her because this isn't how she expected to feel. After this conversation, she was supposed to feel _happy _and _in love. _And things were supposed to be _perfect._

This was supposed to be her happily ever after, but it feels more like happily _never _after.

Stupid fucking _script._

She ends up face to face with Rebekah Puckerman an hour later. She's stopped crying, put her makeup back on, fluffed her hair, and she's made a point to look as though nothing in the world is wrong. She kissed her dad goodbye and told him she was going to a friend's house to study, and here she is at the Puckermans' front door with the youngest member of the family smiling up at her brightly.

"Noah's not here," she says immediately. "He left to go get something to eat because he burned the spaghetti. And he's not supposed to, but he left me here alone. So make sure you don't tell my mom because she'll kick his ass."

Rachel is used to this by now. She is no longer fazed by this potty-mouthed fourth grader. "You probably shouldn't be answering the door then," she says, inviting herself in and shutting and locking the door behind her.

Bekah just shrugs. "I could see you through the curtains."

They settle onto the couch in the living room where a rerun of _Hannah Montana _is playing. Rachel swears she's only seen this show like three times and has seen this episode twice already. Bekah isn't really paying attention to it, though. She's actually doing homework, which makes Rachel wonder if she's actually related to her brother. If it weren't for the fact that they have the exact same eyes and vocabulary, she'd wonder about their DNA. She watches Bekah work on long-division for a little while and notices that she goes through it pretty quickly. It's obvious that _she, _at least, doesn't spend match class taking naps in the nurse's office.

Speaking of… Puck shows up pretty soon carrying a Wendy's bag in one hand and a drink carrier in the other. He balances all of this surprisingly well as he unlocks the door and then kicks it closed behind him. He doesn't seem surprised to see Rachel sitting on his couch, which probably means something, but Rachel isn't going to search for it. She just gives him a small smile as he dumps the food onto the coffee table. Rebekah digs into the bag immediately, and Rachel cringes slightly to see her pull out a bacon cheeseburger and tear into it like she's starving. She's very sure that this is another secret the Puckerman kids keep well for each other because she's pretty certain that this is supposed to be a kosher household, and a bacon cheeseburger is about as _un-_kosher as it is possible to be. Not to mention, of course, her own feelings in regards to all the animals who suffered needlessly for that one disgusting concoction, but that's another story.

Rachel wants to tell Puck that he's a pretty horrible example- leaving his little sister home alone, teaching her more swear words than any nine year old should know, and completely disregarding his mother's dietary wishes for their family… But then she sees him pick up the math homework, look over it, and then point out a wrong answer before explaining to his sister why it's wrong and how to fix it. And maybe she thinks he's a pretty decent big brother after all.

It doesn't feel weird to end up on the couch with both of them after they finish eating and throw the evidence away- literally throw it in the trash can _outside _by the curb (they're good at covering their tracks at least). She's on one side, Bekah's on the other, and Puck's in the middle. It also doesn't feel weird when he slips an arm around her or when she lays her head against his shoulder. Bekah, now done with homework, lays down in his lap and, Rachel's pretty sure, drifts in and out of sleep the whole time they watch some sports show on ESPN that is probably about the World Series, though Rachel can't say for sure because she's completely checked out and is reliving the scene from her bedroom over and over in her head.

When Mrs. Puckerman finally gets home from work, she walks into the living room and looks like she's possibly just won Powerball. Rachel tries not to be amused, and she notices the way Puck's index finger slyly twists through her hair in what she can only assume is the latest plan in his mission to give his mother a heart attack. Still, she giggles a little _(tiny) _bit because it doesn't feel horrible.

Turns out, it's way past Bekah's bedtime (according to her mom anyway). This is probably not true, considering it's not even nine o'clock yet. If it's past her bedtime, it's certainly not _way _past it, but no one argues. Bekah even gets up and goes willingly because her eyes are already half-closed and drooping. Rachel takes that as her cue to sit up and try a little bit of her own lying (acting).

"Can you help me with Spanish?" she asks, looking over just as Puck smirks at her. His mom says nothing, just sits down, turns the channel, and tries to pretend like she isn't watching. Everyone in that room knows they aren't going upstairs to work on Spanish. The only words Puck knows in the entire language are the cuss words, and the closest he's ever got to tutoring the subject was when he was fourteen and taught Santana Lopez how to give a blow job. Rachel's teeth clench the second the thought crosses her mind.

Still, regardless of what they all know, they are not discouraged from heading upstairs to his bedroom alone. In fact, his mom just smiles at them and says goodnight. Rachel still finds the entire thing completely disturbing, but she guesses she can't be _too _shocked considering the fact that, Jewish or not, she is a completely different breed from the girls he normally hangs around. Her lack of Cheerios skirt on its own probably wins her at least a few points.

He laughs when they make it up to her room and tells her that she's getting better. She doesn't know exactly what it is that she's getting better at, but she doesn't really care. He only seems slightly shocked when she skips the small talk and goes straight for the kiss. She is careful not to overdo it or to put too much into it. Slow and careful and _pointed. _She needs to make a _point._

She doesn't know if he gets it. She isn't even positive what she wants him to get. But he doesn't argue when puts one knee on his bed and pulls him forward so that she can kiss him from an easier angle. He doesn't fight her for control or anything and just lets her take the lead completely. She likes that about him- he always seems to know what she wants and just lets her have it.

"I don't want to work on Spanish," she whispers without ever removing her lips from his.

He laughs a little and says, "No shit," before opening his mouth for her. A hand rakes down her side and settles on her hip, and the other one draws lazy circles right on her lower back. She thinks she could die like this and probably not be too upset.

But she has plans, and they involve more than just standing in his bedroom kissing. Careful, though, not to break the kiss, she reaches behind her and gently takes the hand from her back and brings it to her front. Without a word, she carefully slips it under her skirt and feels him tense up a little bit as she holds it there.

They still don't speak when she moves just enough to sit down and pulls him with her. He still hasn't moved the hand under her skirt, but the other one goes to the side of her face and cradles it as they lie backwards together. She is aware of all of her senses at the moment and fully aware that the last time he had his hand under her skirt like this, she felt the most intense feeling she's ever felt in her life.

They kiss for awhile, his fingertips brushing her every once in awhile, but he never pushes it further. Eventually, it becomes clear that the most logical place for her legs is around his waist, and he seems to agree because he quickly adapts to that position and presses right up against her, finally removing his hand from her skirt to run up and down her side and then lower down her thigh. It all feels _so _good. She rocks against him almost unconsciously, and he follows her pattern without hesitation. The kisses are deep and intense, but there's nothing desperate or particularly heated about it. Rachel just wants to _feel _everything, and she's on sensory overload.

He looks so perfect, up close like this, kissing her and holding her to him with one hand as his other hand attempts to touch all of her at once. It's amazing, and she knows he feels it, too. There are questions she wants to ask him and answers she needs to know, but right now is not the time for those. Instead, she focuses on his lips and his hands and the weight of his body against hers as she tries to pull him closer than he can physically be.

And when he breaks away from her kiss and starts to move away, she clings to him tightly. "Please don't stop," she whispers, and his eyes lock on hers. There is nothing but seriousness there, and she sees no trace of sixteen year old boy. Whatever's there in his eyes is much older and much more knowing than any sixteen year old has a right to be.

It both thrills her and terrifies her all at once.

"Rachel…" And her name sounds almost like a plea coming out of his mouth right now. She knows he thinks he needs to stop, but she doesn't want him to. And she doesn't _need _him to, either. She just _wants _him.

"Please," she whispers again, and the look on his face then is something that sort of mirrors _agony._

"Rachel…" he seems to trip over her name again, "we shouldn't. And my mom is right downstairs."

"She won't know," Rachel promises. "I'll be so quiet…"

He lets out something that sounds like a groan, and she feels him probably unconsciously grind against her. She kisses him again- good and slow- and lets him know that she's serious. She doesn't ever remember being more serious about anything in her life.

When he kisses her back, she knows that he's in.

It's not exactly what she expects. She isn't sure what she _does _expect, but it's probably something rougher and dirtier. It's not quiet whispers in her ear and light kisses against her collarbone. It's not someone who _still _won't even let her get fully undressed and instead keeps her skirt on and only unbuttons the top few buttons of her shirt.

She tries to make good on her promise to stay quiet, and she focuses all of her attention on doing so. She tries to notice everything and memorize all the details. From the way his lips are so light on her skin to the way his hands brush over her hips and lower, everything is worth committing to memory. The words he whispers to her aren't at all the filthy things she would expect to hear in this situation- they're nice and sweet, and he tells her she's beautiful about fifty times.

At one point, she forgets how to breathe. This is different than anything else she's felt. Ever. He is so… _good. _He knows how to do things with his body and his mouth and his hands all at one time, and it all feels _so good. _She tries to just _notice _it all. He isn't rough with her. He's slow and gentle, and it all just feels so right. She feels him crushing her into the mattress but there's nothing even remotely about it that doesn't seem perfect.

Eventually, she gets lost in her senses and just gives herself over to all the feelings he's stirring inside of her. She lets those senses take over, and she just _feels. _Everything. When he kisses her, his lips are tinged with desperation, but they're so careful. At one point, she locks eyes with him, and she's shocked to see how dark his have become. His changing eye color has never failed to entrance her.

He whispers things to her, and she hears a lot of _babybabybabybabybaby _and _beautifulfuckinggorgeous _and even a _goddamnholy…rachel _that literally makes her eyes fly open for a second before they're fluttering closed again when his lips press against her neck, and he's pushing into her even further. But the tiny gasps that escape her throat are the only sounds at all that she makes until she can feel him tensing up as he moves the hair away from her ear and whispers, asking her to say his name. So she does, his real name, and then it's over.

And she isn't even sure if it was real to begin with.

She lays there, unable to force her brain into coherency, for who knows how long. She tries to regulate her breathing, drawing in slow, careful breaths of air. She feels him move off of her finally, and she realizes that her eyes are closed. She swallows what feels like a golf ball of dryness in her throat and then opens them. He's lying beside her, watching her. She can't read his expression.

"Noah, she says quietly, trying to form words even though the simple attempt makes her mouth go dry and her throat hurt. He looks at her, his eyes still the darkest green she's ever seen them. His cheeks are flushed, and she wonders subconsciously what her own look like. She can't focus on that, though. "I need to tell you something…"

She watches as he reaches out a hand and gently pushes some hair away from her face before he lets one finger slide down her cheek and trace over her jawbone. Somehow, this single gesture is possibly the most intimate moment of her life.

He isn't going to come out and ask her what the something is, but she has to tell him. It was her entire purpose for even coming over here tonight. Still, it's difficult to concentrate on anything when he's looking at her like that. She's never seen it before- not on her boyfriends and certainly not on him. It's the same look that makes her think the sixteen year old boy in him just doesn't exist and that someone much more mature than that just inhabits his body. It makes her shiver. He uses the finger tracing her jawbone to run what is probably supposed to be a warming hand down her arm. It just makes her shiver more.

"What's wrong?" he asks quietly, linking their fingers when his hand finally gets to the end of her arm.

"Noah…" And the words get caught again. She closes her eyes just for a second and then opens them and says, "Finn wants me back."

Those dark green eyes change right in front of her. Instead of finding it fascinating, though, she finds it heartbreaking. She already knows. And it's not fair, is it? How a few single words in one sentence can ruin even the most perfect of moments.

It's really not fair.

… … …

A/N: Oh, Rachel… Next up, look for a new point of view! Once again, thanks for reading and please leave your thoughts!


	11. Chapter 11

**ONE SENTENCE**

Warning: Noah Puckerman has a very dirty mouth. That is all.

… … …

"_Finn wants me back."_

Fuck this shit. This shit right here is exactly why he doesn't fuck with high school girls. Because they're so fucking _stupid. _And not just stupid, either. They're full of all kinds of fucked up drama and bullshit, and it's just exhaustingeven trying to deal with their crap because it's all so fucking _pointless. _

Plus, yeah, maybe they're hot, but these little girls always either get too damn clingy or they make you feel like you're utterly a piece of shit. And he is _not _a piece of shit, and he sure the fuck isn't down for the clingy crap. That's the best thing about older women (besides the fact that they always know exactly what the hell they're doing in bed). But seriously? They don't _get _clingy, and if they _do, _it's with their husbands or their fiancés. It's sure the fuck not with some sixteen year old kid who could send their ass to jail. And his mom _would _send their ass to jail. If she ever found out. So he's careful with that shit.

But that's the best thing about them. He gets to fuck them, and then they just disappear for three weeks or a month or however long. It doesn't matter. They don't call him or text him or bug the crap out of him. They just fuck him, give him extra big tips, and then send him on his way. And yeah, maybe it's a _little bit _like prostitution, but whatever. It's not like has a pimp or anything. Hell, he _is _a mother-fucking pimp.

Which is exactly why he does not need this shit.

High school girls are always so damn needy and clingy and won't leave you the fuck alone. He hates that. He doesn't need some chick hanging off his junk all the damn time. He _especially _doesn't need all the drama that follows that. And _goddamn_, do high school girls have a lot of fucking drama. And if they _don't _have it, they invent it. They're always on you about not calling them or bitching you out for checking out some other chick's ass. They screech like fucking banshees and think they can just grab you by the balls and control your whole life by refusing to let you in their panties. They're _always _like that.

Well, they're either just like that or they're, you know, dating your best friend and, therefore, even more fucking unavailable than the married cougars.

So whatever. He doesn't have time for it. Doesn't want it. Doesn't fucking _need _it. No pussy is worth all _that _bullshit.

And seriously? Rachel Berry? What-the-fuck-e_ver._

He doesn't even know what he was _thinking _with that. She's… _Rachel Berry _for Christ's sake. She's like crazy. And fucking _weird. _And it's not like she's doing a whole lot to boost his rep or anything. True, not too many people openly fuck with him because he'll totally bust their ass and make them bleed and shit, but it's not like they're flocking to his cock like normal, either. Because what is he now? The same guy who fucked his best friend's girl, knocked her up, and now did the same thing. Minus the kid, of course. _Better _be minus the fucking kid.

So yeah, his rep's kind of in the shitter, but it's not like he cares or anything. High school is high school, and it's bullshit and he _knows _that. These people in this hick town can suck his dick and fuck off for all he cares because he's just counting down the days til graduation when he can peace on this shithole. Fuck this.

And that's his life.

So, you know, whatever. It's not like it's some big surprise that his life is full of shit. It's kind of always been like that. So nothing new, nothing shocking. Just normal life. One big, giant ball of bullshit. He's used to it. That's been the story of his life for pretty much as long as he can remember, so it's not like it's some huge surprise. He wonders sometimes if people just look at him and _expect _him to be a mess and do wild and crazy shit because that's who they think he is. Hell, it _is _who he is.

See, here's the thing about him. He's a badass. Like not just for show- he's a real, genuine badass. He may not have much, but he's got a hell of a lot of guts. Some people (his mom) say he's got too _much _guts, but he doesn't think there is such a thing. It's these guts that just give him the balls to do whatever the hell he wants to do whenever the hell he wants to do it. He isn't afraid of shit. He's just not. He never has been. Even when he was like a little ass kid, his parents would like try to threaten him and shit, and he'd just look them straight in the eye and do whatever it was they were forbidding him from doing. Just because he _could. _He has no fear of consequence. Never has. That's just _him._

Does he do bad shit? Hell yeah, he does. He's not even sorry for it most the time. Because seriously, what's the point in living some boring ass life where you never do anything, never try anything, never have any fucking fun? He's not down for that. He's young, alright? He plans on enjoying that shit while he can.

But fuck you if you think he doesn't take _some_ shit seriously.

He's got, like, responsibilities and shit. More than what a lot of the other dudes in his school do. They get shit handed to them on silver platters and have mommies and daddies that will just bail their asses out if they get in trouble. Fuck that. He's self-sufficient. He has to be. That's his life. He doesn't ask his mom for shit. That woman works like seven-hundred and sixty-eight hours a week or something, and that's just to pay the fucking bills. They don't have a lot of extra money to blow on bullshit. It's not like they're poor or anything, but they're not _rich, _either. They make do. They have food and clothes and X-box, but he doesn't like bug her all the time for money he knows she doesn't really have. He handles that shit himself.

And when Quinn was pregnant? He took that shit seriously, too. And yeah, maybe he did some illegal shit to get money to like pay for sonograms and crap, but the point is, he _provided. _He took care of her because she was his responsibility. Her and that kid, and he would fucking go to _jail _for that shit. No questions asked. And you wanna know why? Because he's a _man, _and he handles his shit. So fuck all these fuckers who don't know anything about taking care of themselves. He learned how to do that shit when he was eleven years old and his dad fucked off for good and left him there with a freaking out mom and a four year old little sister. He had to step up and handle that shit and take care of them, and he learned fast that you can't depend on anybody for anything. When it comes down to it, it's all down to you. So hell yeah, he is for real about that shit. He's not lying when he says his family comes first over everything. That's what a _man _does. And who cares if he had the world's worst example to learn from? He's fucking better than that.

So that's why he knows that all this dumbass high school BS is just stupid. It doesn't _mean _anything. These idiots aren't important, and neither are their lame ideas of what's right and wrong. He doesn't give a crap what any of them think about him because when push comes to shove, every single one of those fuckers would pussy out and run away if things got too deep. Not him, though. _Guts. _For real.

So that's really why he doesn't know what the fuck has turned him into somebody who might (possibly) give a damn about some sixteen year old bitch who's spent the last year so far up his best friend's ass that she's damn lucky she didn't get lost. And _no, _he's not saying he _does _give a damn, but he's not going to sit there and deny that obviously _something's _going on, considering the fact that it's like he can't go two fucking _minutes _without thinking about her. And he doesn't even know why.

When did every single thing in his life start being controlled by Rachel fucking Berry?

The night he knocked Quinn up? Totally Rachel's fault. It's not like she was _there _or anything, but that shit never would have even went down if Quinn hadn't come crying to him about how her douchebag of a boyfriend was in love with some singing freak of nature who was skinnier than her. Maybe if Rachel knew how to respect fucking boundaries in the first place and knew how to stay away from dudes with overly-hysterical girlfriends, said girlfriends wouldn't go creeping on the dudes' best friends and wind up getting themselves sperminated. Seriously. Shit.

So yeah. And whatever, yes, he feels bad about that shit. It was fucked. He knows this. But it's not like Finn and Quinn were ever _real _anyway. Finn was just into it because he wanted to have sex with her really, _really _badly. Quinn just needed someone who would do whatever she ordered like a freaking minion or a slave or something. That's all it was. It wasn't like they were really in love or anything. Not even stupid fifteen year old love.

But Rachel and Finn? That's kind of a different story. For one, Rachel's not opposed to sex. It's not like she ever pulled Quinn's shit and held that over his head like a bone to a fucking dog. And B, Finn looks at Rachel like she literally _owns _him, and he's not even scared of her. Well, he's probably a little scared of her, but whatever. They like each other. A lot. They probably _love e_ach other- you know, as much as high schoolers _can _love anyway. He has no doubt that both of them spend time during the day daydreaming about white picket fences and brown-eyed singing kids lined up like the fucking _Sound of Music _or some shit. He's not down for that shit.

But Rachel's… Rachel. She's not like the worst person in the world or anything. She's not even that bad at all really. Yeah, she can totally grate when she gets in the mood, but there's lots of shit about her that's really actually pretty awesome. They've gotten along pretty fine for awhile now. Lately, they've gotten along _really _well.

But that's the fucking downhill cycle of his life, isn't it?

Finn can't lock his own shit down. He's had like two legit girlfriends in his entire life, and they've both gone running to his best friend the second shit gets difficult. And yeah, Puck's well aware of the fact that as that best friend, he should have the decency to turn them away and tell them to fuck off. But crying girls aren't really his thing. Especially crying _hot _girls. And especially not girls like Rachel who are hot, crying, and totally forward when they need to get what they want. No guy in their right mind could honestly push _that _away- not when she's coming at you and shoving her tongue down your throat and begging you to make her _feel _something. Fuck, he can get hard just thinking about it.

Because whatever, it's not like she's ugly. Crazy maybe, but she's not ugly. And he learned quickly that that chick kisses just like she does everything else, which is to say pretty damn perfectly. So it's not like it was the worst thing in the world that night. It started out with him wanting to shut her the hell up, but then it kind of became him stuck on the fact that she apparently had never felt like _anything _in her whole life, and that was interesting… And really fucking amazing. And fuck Finn for not knowing what the hell he's doing because if he _did, _maybe all his chicks wouldn't _need t_o go looking elsewhere.

But seriously. That was fucked, too. He knows that. And he should have stopped, but he didn't. Because… Well, truthfully, he doesn't know why. He _wanted _to stop. He told himself about a million fucking times to stop. But it's like every single time they're alone together, they need to start making out- and hell, that shit started a year ago, so whatever, that's not his fault. She wanted to keep it a secret, though, and he _is _trust-worthy no matter what anyone says, so he kept her damn secret.

But then, you know, there's Santana. And her fucking pathological need to ruin his life at every _possible _opportunity. And seriously? That's another chick he just needs to cut off for good and forget because that chick can fuck you up _bad. _And she doesn't even give a shit. But whatever, same ol', same ol'. Point is, everyone found out, and everyone turned on Rachel just like they always do. Not that they had to move very much, considering their backs are pretty much permanently to her face.

But all that shit was his fault, so he stepped up like a _man _and handled it.

Rachel's not a bad person, she doesn't deserve that shit. So he fucking put his own rep out there to make sure that anybody who wanted to fuck with her was going to fuck with him first. Because _responsibility_. Yeah. It's not his fault that she actually turned out to be like maybe the coolest chick ever. That shit's just fucked. Because Rachel Berry's not supposed to be cool. She's supposed to be _Rachel Berry. _It's not like he hated her or anything before, but he didn't know that she was actually kind of awesome until she let him start corrupting her all the damn time.

But really, he _knows _better than to get into high school chicks. He even has a fucking rule about it. He _especially _knows better than to be into high school chicks who are in love with other dudes. Because no matter how into kissing him Rachel may be, she's still totally in love with Finn fucking Hudson, and clearly that's not going to change. So that's why he's been careful this whole time to never let it go _too _far because Rachel and Finn are like… an inevitability or some shit. He's known this the whole time. And that's why he just never let it cross that line. Because seriously? He'd rather go jerk off four times a day than actually really _experience _that shit and then have it walk away. Because he's too _into _it. Into _her. _And that's some dangerous fucking shit right there.

Of course, leave it up to fate to fuck him in the ass like some corn-rowed prison bitch who drops the soap in the shower. Because yeah, the _one _night, he finally decides to say screw the rule and just give her what she wants is the one night she tells him… _"Oh, Noah, guess what! You know the perfect quarterback, All-American prom king douche I'm completely in love with? He loves me back! Isn't that awesome?"_

Fuck. That. Shit.

And yeah, it didn't totally go down exactly like that, but whatever. May as well have. And for real, who knew she was such an evil little bitch? Because she was throwing her shit at him so hard that night that he'd have to cut his own dick off to resist it. And then he fucks her like she's never been fucked in her whole life, and she springs _that _shit on him? No. Doesn't _fly. _

She tried to say something else, but he tuned her out. His ears can do that pretty easily. It didn't matter anyway, sure as fuck didn't _mean _anything. He just ignored her. He got up, went to the bathroom just like he does with every bitch he fucks, and when he got back, she was gone. And that was that.

And so that's it.

He's done with that shit. He's not going to sit around on his ass and eat Finn's sloppy seconds anymore because it's bullshit. Quinn did that. She went back to Finn, and Rachel will, too. And then it'll just be him, all by himself, the substitute for whenever Finn Hudson is being especially dickish. Fuck that. Finn's a punk. He's never done anything for himself in his whole life, and he's too much of an idiot to try. He doesn't know anything about what it takes to be a real man, but Puck does. He knows all about it.

And that's why he's done with this crap. He's not going to put his neck out for anybody else ever again because what does it get you? A few makeout sessions, one night of like seriously mind-blowing sex, and then a kiss goodbye? Totally not worth it.

His mom and his sister. That's what matters. Those are the only two people in the world he's ever going to bother risking his shit for ever again. That's his family- his _responsibility_. He might have had a new family, but that shit got ripped away from him and nobody even asked his fucking opinion, so screw it. He'll take care of his mom, and he'll make damn sure that Bekah actually _has _shit so she can get the fuck out of this hellhole one day, too. But that's it.

He's done caring.

Caring, like school and glee and Finn and Quinn and Rachel fucking Berry and all the other shit in his life, can go suck it. Because he is totally over it.

… … …

A/N: Yes, much shorter and VERY different! Nothing to move the plot along and doesn't even follow the one sentence rule… but I know lots of people wanted to know what was going on in his head. So there's a glimpse, and, of course, keep in mind that it's the head of a very stubborn boy who can hide anything. Even from himself. Oh, Puck…. Thanks for everything!


	12. Chapter 12

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

Rachel's not sure what to expect the next day.

Part of her expects to walk in the door and see a slushie flying at her face. A bigger part of her thinks he'll probably just flat out ignore her. She thinks that will probably burn worse than corn syrup in her eyes. She doesn't want _either, _but she doesn't like her chances on any other options.

He isn't in Spanish. That doesn't know if she means he's just skipping this class or if he's blown off school altogether. Mr. Schuester notices his absence and sends a look in her direction, and she's almost certain that if he actually has the nerve to ask her if she knows where he is, she'll lose it and start screaming and possibly get herself expelled. He doesn't. She's glad.

She _doesn't _know where he is. She does, however, know that she wishes she was there with him. It's silly, of course, because he's probably not here specifically _because _she is, but she can't help it. She sneaks her phone out when Mr. Schue's back is turned and sends a quick message asking him where he is.

She's not shocked when he doesn't reply.

School is lonely without him. She doesn't realize exactly how much she's come to depend on having a friend until he's not there. It's no different than before, of course- she has, after all, spent many years without friends or anyone to talk to at school. Somehow, though, it didn't seem as hard then as it does now.

At one point, she sees Finn staring at her from across the hallway as she changes out her books. He looks sad and longing, and she thinks it would be very easy to run over to him, throw her arms around his neck, and drag him out to his car for some long overdue making up.

When she slips her history book into her bag and walks off in the opposite direction, she thinks of all the reasons why she can't.

Namely, she's sick of lying. She's not a liar. At least she never used to be. She doesn't _want _to be. It's not who she is, and lying to him in the first place was agony for her. In fact, it was almost a relief when the truth came out. But, of course, that just brought more pain in the end. She's so sick of _hurting. _When is she supposed to catch a break?

It's like this entire year has been one heartache after another. She doesn't know where it's supposed to end. She _thought _it would end with Finn because, in her head, he was her savior. He was everything she'd ever convinced herself that she wanted, and he was perfect. And when she finally got him, she thought that would be it and that all the other crap in her life would just cease to exist.

She is a romantic by nature. She cannot help it.

She _wanted _Finn. _Badly. _It wasn't surprising to her that she fell in love with him months before they were officially together. The fact that he had a girlfriend, while sucking obviously, did not deter her from falling in love with him because there was just something about him that drew her in and just made her think that he was the answer to all her problems. He was _nice _to her. People weren't generally nice to her, and the shock of having someone- specifically this attractive, jock, _popular _someone- be so friendly with her and nice to her was enough to just throw all of her other logic completely off-course. He was talented, too, which was obviously attractive. And if it weren't for the fact that he had a pregnant girlfriend, she was pretty sure that they could just run off to some state where it was legal to get married at sixteen and elope.

She is also a victim of an overactive imagination. She cannot help _that, _either.

There were nights, literally, where she would sit in her bedroom and _pray _for Finn Hudson. She knows now, of course, how pathetic that was, but it happened. She would just ask God to please, _please _just let her have this _one thing. _That one thing was supposed to make everything else possible. She just wanted him so badly, maybe more than she'd wanted anything ever… Sometimes it seriously _hurt _to want him so badly.

She cried too many times over a boy who wasn't even her boyfriend. Looking back, she thinks that he didn't exactly treat her fairly in those first few months when he flirted back and told her he liked her and even kissed her (_twice), _all while he was dating Quinn and had no intention whatsoever of leaving her. But Rachel was a fool, and she fell for it and put up with it because she just knew that some miracle was going to happen and that Finn Hudson was going to land up right in her arms where he belonged.

Overhearing (_eavesdropping on_) a conversation (_an argument_) between Puck and Quinn before glee one day was the perfect God-sent miracle she'd been praying for.

"_When you care about someone, you can't sit around and watch them suffer when you know that you can do something about it…"_

She didn't know then that those words would come back to haunt her months later. Karma. Maybe. But when you go around telling secrets that aren't yours to tell, it's only a matter of time before your own secrets get out. And that's exactly what happened. And who has she got to blame besides herself? (Well, maybe Puck for not noticing when his phone fell out of his pocket as he was zipping his jeans back up in the back of Santana's Mustang…. But whatever).

Quinn's secret just turned into her own secret. It was only a matter of time before someone forced her to taste her own medicine.

The thing is, though… she loves Finn. She honestly does. She loves him as a boyfriend, as a best friend… As the boy who got all of her important firsts. She doesn't hate him. She isn't even _mad. _He is a good person and a good boyfriend, and there is a huge part of her that knows that they can move on from all this and go back to normal if they both really want it. He loves her, too, and when you love someone, you can forgive them for pretty much anything. These sort of things probably even make relationships stronger in the end. If they're both willing to put their all into it, she has no doubt that they could be better than ever before.

But… She's not willing.

She's not trying to be mean (even though she knows she's coming off as an extreme bitch), but the truth is that she's just doing it for his own good. She's afraid of what will happen if they get back together before she's got everything worked out in her life. She knows all about broken hearts, and she's pretty sure that _doing _the breaking feels worse than being broken. She just doesn't trust herself not to break his heart again. And yes, that probably makes her a horrible, selfish person, but she knows she can't do that to Finn because he's the nicest person she knows and doesn't deserve any of it.

And that leaves… Noah Puckerman.

She doesn't know what to think now, considering the fact that he is clearly furious with her and unwilling to even discuss the happenings of his bedroom. She knows she went about everything in completely the wrong way, but there's nothing she can do about it now. She went to him because she wanted to _know. _She wanted to know if it would feel as good as she imagined it would, and she knew that if she didn't find out, she would just die. Not literally, of course, but something inside of her would die. She just needed to _know._

He didn't push her away. He didn't force her to stop. And if it weren't for the fact that he immediately went into asshole mode afterwards, she would swear that he even enjoyed it. She knew he had to feel what she did- or at least had to feel _some _of it. She could see it in the way he was looking at her, and she could even hear it in the way he was speaking. Or maybe he really _is _so incredibly closed off that the only way he can channel any sort of emotion is through sex, and maybe what she saw last night was nothing more than that.

But she really doesn't believe that.

People mostly leave her alone for the rest of the day. A few weeks have passed since the scandal broke, and people are getting tired of it. There are new break-ups, new hook-ups, new rumors, and new lies. All high schools are full of drama, and McKinley is no different. There are just too many hormones and not enough attention span for anything to stay important for too long.

Her phone buzzes while she's sitting in her last class, and it's Finn. _"Let me take you home." _It's Thursday, and she knows he has glee. Apparently he's willing to skip it, and there's a part of her that finds some sort of selfish pleasure in that, so she texts him back and says okay.

He barely talks to her as they ride together to her house. It isn't far from school, but the time is spent in relative silence until she finally decides she can't deal with the weirdness and tries to break it. "Why aren't you at glee?"

"Oh, it was canceled." He shrugs. "Mr. Schue had a doctor's appointment, so we pushed it back to Saturday."

So much for him actually _choosing_ to spend time with her instead of them… All she can manage is an, "Oh."

"You should come." His voice is a little bit brighter, and she wonders if he knows exactly how terrible she finds that suggestion. If he hadn't brought up her returning to the club last night, it could very well have been _his _bed she was fall into. In fact, she's nearly positive it would have been.

"No, thank you," she says stiffly. "I no longer feel the need to seek approval from people who hate me."

"No one hates you, Rachel." He glances over at her, and she really wishes he'd just keep his damn eyes on the road. "Everyone misses you."

"Really?" She can't help the way she rolls her eyes. "Yeah, you wouldn't believe the way they've all been beating down my door and blowing up my phone."

There is something about that sentence, she knows, that sounds inherently like Puck, and she tries to ignore it. She doesn't think Finn's smart enough to pick up on it or even notice.

"They just don't really know what to say." He shrugs again, which he always does. A lot. She's never really noticed that it's annoying before just now. "It's a weird situation, but everyone misses you. We all need you."

"What about you, Finn?" she asks, feeling suddenly bold as he turns onto her street and heads toward her house. "Do _you _miss me? Or does _glee _miss me?"

"What do you mean?" She's got him scared now, and she can tell that he's worried about how he should respond.

"Do _you _miss me?" she asks again. "Or do you just miss my voice?"

She figures that there's no harm at this point in asking exactly what she wants to know. In the past twenty-four hours, she's gone from being a girl with one friend and no boyfriend to being a girl with an ex-boyfriend who was asking her back to a girl who was having with her only friend because she just needed some sort of validation. It's all very screwed up, and she knows this. But at this point, what has she got to lose?

Finn pulls his car into her driveway and puts it in park without turning off the ignition. He's silent for a little while, and then he finally turns his head and looks at her. She keeps his eye-contact and is surprised that she doesn't feel intimidated in the least.

"I miss you like hell," he finally says, and it's quiet, and she can tell it's the truth. He's not a very good liar, and she can hear real honesty when it's in his voice. And that's real honesty.

She doesn't say anything. She just looks at him and takes in all of his expression. He looks like someone who has been hurt and someone who is vulnerable and someone who just wants things to stop being so crappy. She can relate. In a lot of ways, she feels those things, too.

Suddenly, she doesn't feel confident at all in what she's about to do.

"Finn, I…" She breaks off for a second and then forces the words out. "But I'm not coming back to glee, and I don't think I can come back to you, either."

In the back of her head, she knows how this sounds- formal and rehearsed and completely forced. It is. It's also the truth, though.

Finn sits there and says nothing for what seems like forever but is really just a few seconds. He looks stunned and a little bit like someone's just punched him in the stomach. It's almost as if he never dreamed he'd actually hear those words. She knows that he expects her to throw her arms around his neck and tell him everything's fine, but… it's _not _fine.

"I'm_ sorry," _he says for what seems like the fiftieth time. "Rachel… I don't… _Please."_

His voice cracks a little bit on the last word, and she's really afraid that he's going to start crying. He looks miserable and just… _broken. _She hates herself for doing this- for making him look like _that. _He's too good of a person to look like that, and she sort of feels like someone is stabbing her in the gut.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly. "But I'm tired of hurting you… I don't know what I want right now."

"You're tired of _hurting _me?" He looks at her like she's crazy, and maybe she is. Lots of people do tell her that. "What the hell do you think you're doing right now?"

"It's not fair to you!" she says quickly. "I have to figure things out for myself, and I can't do that and be totally honest with myself if I just try to make everything go back to normal. I'm afraid I'll just end up hurting you more."

"You _won't. _That won't happen to us."

"I didn't think _this _would happen to us." Her voice is soft but truthful.

She doesn't know what _this _actually encompasses, but she supposes it's a mix of everything- from the lie that started the whole thing to the secret 'relationship' that finally ruined it and everything in between. There's so much. She's tired. Very tired.

There's silence in his car for a few moments- nothing but the hum of his engine and the sound of random passing cars occasionally. Rachel thinks she should just go inside, but she sits there and waits because she knows somebody needs to say something. She doesn't want it to be her, though, so she just sits there and waits. Finally, after what truly seems like an eternity, he speaks up.

His voice is different now. It's no longer soft and hurt and pleading. Now he sounds mad and not at all pleading. "I'm not going to fucking sit around and just wait for you to decide between me and him, Rachel. That's bullshit."

"I'm not asking you to wait," she says quietly. "I'm telling you not to." After a second, she can't help adding, "And it's not about you and him."

Finn still looks pissed, and she can't blame him. She would be extremely angry herself in this situation. It's human nature, and honestly, she's glad that he's finally showing a little bit of it.

"I'm not going to be second place to that asshole, Rachel, that's not fair!" He isn't really yelling, but his voice is raised. She's prepared for it.

"You're not second place, Finn," she tells him seriously. _"He _is. He always has been. Why do you think he did it again? Or even in the first place?" She blinks and lets out a tiny breath. "Because that's what people _expect. _And somehow, that's what he thinks he deserves, too."

"You're not going to make me feel sorry for him," he tells her harshly. "So stop wasting your time."

"He doesn't need people to feel sorry for him." She really doesn't even know why she's bringing it up. Her mouth seems to just be moving without her consent. "He just needs people to understand sometimes."

Finn just stares at her. She doesn't know what's going through his head, but she can't stand the look on his face. He looks so _sad, _and it makes her feel worse than she's ever felt in her life. She tells herself not to cry because she doesn't think she deserves to cry right now- not when she's hurting him like this and making him look like that.

"I can't believe you're choosing him." She barely hears him, and she's not really sure he meant to say it out loud.

"I'm not choosing him." And it's the truth. She has to work hard at keeping her voice even because she really, really wants to start crying. She thinks this is the worst she's felt during this entire thing, and it _hurts. _"I don't know what's going on with him and me," she admits, and it's the truth. She didn't know before, and she _certainly _doesn't know now. "But I'm not choosing him. This isn't about me _choosing." _Finn stares at her, and she tries to focus on something besides the pained look in his eyes. "I just don't like hurting people," she says quietly. "It's not fair to anyone. Because I don't know what I want... But he's my friend, Finn. And I want you to be my friend, too."

He blinks at her. "I don't want to be your friend."

Rachel feels something in her chest tighten, but she nods and glances down at her lap as she swallows. "Not a lot of people do."

"Rachel, I didn't mean…" His voice trails off, and he looks sadder than before.

She knows there's no point in staying here. They'll just go round and round in circles, and she doesn't think either of them can handle that. "I'm really, _really _sorry, Finn," she says sullenly, and it might be the most honest thing she's ever said in her life.

She lets herself out of her car and walks toward her house without looking back. She goes inside and thinks for a second that he might follow her. He doesn't. She hears his car pull away, and she finally starts crying. She still doesn't feel like she deserves the right to cry, but she can't fight it anymore. She's glad that her parents are both still at work because she doesn't want them asking questions. They've done a good job so far of staying out of her business for the most part- not pushing for answers or explanations for things they know are painful. She appreciates it, but she also wonders why they trust her so much. She hasn't done anything very trustworthy lately, and she wonders what her dads would think if they knew everything she'd been doing lately. They'd be so disappointed in her.

Not nearly as disappointed as she is in herself, though.

She goes upstairs to study because she needs to do something. She knows that if she doesn't keep her mind occupied that she'll go absolutely crazy. She is doing major ACT and SAT prep work, and now that OSU doesn't seem like such an appealing option, she needs to work harder than ever to get into one of the Ivies that her dads are dead-set on. While she's sitting at her desk with all of her test prep material in front of her, she realizes suddenly how stupid she's been these past few weeks. She's done things that could seriously screw up her entire future if the wrong circumstances occurred. She knows better. She _knows _better.

Her dad gets home from court at a relatively normal hour not too long after she does and checks in on her to see what she wants for dinner. She tells him that she's not very hungry so just to order something light and she might eat it later. He doesn't argue with her because he sees how deeply involved in studying she is. He's probably glad that she's returning to her old self instead of the self who stays out late more often than not and no longer seems focused on much of _anything. _She can't really blame him.

When the house phone rings, she doesn't think anything of it. She is a little surprised, though, when her dad yells upstairs and tells her that it's for her. She doesn't know would be calling her because the only people who _ever _call the house phone are telemarketers or people collecting for charity.

"Rachel?" She hears a familiar voice after she answers, and she's more than a little surprised. "It's Bekah. Is my brother with you?"

She doesn't know why Bekah's calling her looking for her brother, but she's immediately worried. "No, I haven't seen him today. Why? What's wrong?"

"He was supposed to pick me up from piano, but he's like an hour late. I don't know where he is, and he won't answer his phone. I don't want to call my mom because she'll be really pissed."

"I haven't talked to him." She's worried, though. "I'll come get you. Give me like ten minutes."

She tells her dad that she has to go out for a little while and heads to the music school. She doesn't know if this is entirely appropriate, but she's not going to let his little sister just sit outside aimlessly waiting for someone who may or may not show up. While she's driving, she tries his cell phone, not really expecting him to answer but thinking she may as well give it a shot. It's not just him refusing to answer, though- his phone is turned all the way off and goes immediately to voicemail. She doesn't know whether to be worried or really annoyed. She's a little of both.

Rebekah's waiting outside, and she looks tired and has her arms wrapped around herself. Rachel can't blame her, considering how cold it is outside already. She stops and lets her in, waiting as Bekah drops her bag into the floorboard and then buckles up.

"Thanks, Rachel," she says immediately. "They're about to close, and I didn't know what to do. I kept trying Noah, but he wouldn't ever answer, so I had Ms. Julia look your number up."

That explains why the house phone was called. That's the number that's been on file at the music academy since Rachel was four. She forces a smile and nods. "It's fine. I can't get in touch with him, either."

"My mom's at work, and I didn't want to call her because I know she'll be really mad if she finds out, and Noah'll get in a lot of trouble. It's just weird, he never forgets me…" Rachel can tell that Bekah's a little worried, so she does her best not to let on that she feels the same way.

She stops and gets dinner so that Bekah can eat. She feels a little bad feeding her fast food, but she figures that's what she's used to, so it's not like one more box of McNuggets is going to kill her. She takes her home, and Bekah lets them with a key she's got pinned to the inside of her backpack. Rachel feels weird going in with her, which is strange considering how much time she's spent making herself right at home in this house over the past few weeks. Something feels different, though, and she knows it mostly has to do with the fact that she isn't sure she's exactly welcome anymore.

Puck finally shows up around eight-thirty. Rachel's been helping Bekah with her homework, and they've finally finished up and are just watching TV. Rachel's been getting increasingly more and more worried as the time's passed. She's been worried about where he is and what he's doing, of course- scared that something bad might have happened. She's also worried about explaining the situation should Mrs. Puckerman beat him home and start asking questions. Bekah's stressed about fifty times how she doesn't want him to get in trouble, but Rachel's not sure she'd feel comfortable lying, either. Luckily, he makes it home before she does.

"What are you doing here?" he asks the second he unlocks the door and comes inside. He's obviously seen her dad's car in the driveway, and he doesn't waste any time with small talk. It's not particularly unusual for her to be sitting here on the couch with his little sister when he comes home, but it feels much different now.

"I'm here because I had to pick your little sister up from piano because her normal ride conveniently forgot to do so." She hears the snippiness of her voice, but it doesn't bother her. She's glad that she can still be snippy with him.

His face falls immediately, and he looks right over to his sister with a terrible expression. "Shit… Fuck, Bek, I'm sorry." He looks very upset by this realization, and his apology sounds like one of the most sincere things he's ever said.

Rebekah just looks at him and then shrugs and turns her eyes back to the television. The expression on her face gives away the fact that she's a lot more hurt by this than she's letting on. Rachel sort of feels bad for both of them.

She takes that as her cue to leave, smiling at Bekah and giving a little wave. She grabs her purse and her keys and heads for the door. She doesn't say anything at all to Puck, just moves past him and out the door. It's dark outside now, completely, and even colder than a couple of hours ago. Rachel heads for her dad's car and clicks it unlocked as she goes down the stairs on the front porch and crosses the driveway. Behind her, she hears the door open and hears his voice.

"Rach, wait."

She's already at her car when she turns around to see him jump off the side of the porch and follow her. She can't really see his face or anything out here, so she doesn't know what he's doing. Still, she does as he says and waits.

"Thanks," he mumbles when he's close enough that she can just barely make out his features. "For that. I completely forgot my mom was working double today."

Rachel just lifts a shoulder. Then she realizes that she really _is _pissed. "That was really irresponsible, Noah," she snaps. "They were about to close, and she was just standing outside all by herself. What if something had happened to her?"

She can see his face change- first to an expression that _might _be shame, but then quickly into anger. "I fucking know, alright?" he snaps back. "Don't talk about it."

She rolls her eyes. She can't help it. He's so irritating sometimes, and she's suddenly reminded of why she found him so annoying in the first place. He doesn't care about _anything, _and right now, she doesn't find that trait so sexy.

"You're a jerk," she says out of nowhere, not sure why her mouth is just set on speaking without her permission today.

"Wow, thanks," he says sarcastically. "Welcome to what everyone else knew ten fucking years ago."

She doesn't know why she cares. _Or _why she's wasting her time even entertaining this conversation. She turns around and starts to open the door but stops when he speaks again- this time with a tone as equally as sarcastic as his last, though it's not quite as snappy. "How's Finn?"

"I don't _know _how he is," she shoots back. "He's not my boyfriend. Or my friend, apparently."

"Oh, so how long til you go running back to his arms and begging forgiveness?"

"I'm not running back to him," she says evenly. "I tried to tell you that last night, but you just left so I'm assuming you missed that part."

She doesn't mean to bring last night up. It's embarrassing, right now, to realize that she was so desperate for something just twenty-four hours ago and that the person she was so desperate for is really nothing but an irresponsible, immature asshole.

"_You're _the one who left."

She turns around quickly and glares at him. "You ran off and hid in the bathroom, Noah. What the hell was I supposed to think?"

"I didn't fucking _hide." _He seems like maybe his masculinity is threatened by the suggestion that he would _hide _from anything. She thinks it's pathetic.

"You were in there for _twenty minutes. _I can take a hint."

"Could have fooled me."

She wants to hit him because he's _such _an ass, and at the moment, she can't remember why she ever thought he wasn't. She keeps her eyes narrowed because she is not pleased with his attitude, and she wants to make sure he knows she doesn't find this act charming or cute in the least.

"I can't even believe you're pretending like none of this meant anything." She's calling his bluff, and she doesn't care when he does exactly as she expects and denies every bit of it.

"It _didn't." _His eyes are cold and hard, and it bothers her more than it should. "Not everything in the whole fucking world means something. This isn't some stupid movie or something. Some shit is just _shit."_

_Some shit is just shit… _He's so blasé and annoying that she wants to scream. She doesn't even _understand _half the things that come out of his mouth some time. It drives her insane. She knows she should just get in the car and leave because none of this is worth it. There are so many other things she should be focused on that do _not _involve idiotic teenage boys, but she's sixteen, and there's a part of that that sort of makes ignoring these things impossible.

"Then what was last night, Noah?" she asks him coldly, crossing her arms over her chest and fixing him with a look that lets him know she isn't going to be bullied _or_ bull-shitted.

"It was _sex, _Rachel," he says slowly and with the tone of someone who is speaking to either a toddler or a mentally incapable individual. "I know all you've got to compare it to is dip and come… but that's how it's _supposed _to work."

She feels her face heat up because she knows he knows exactly what he's doing. He is crude and rude, but he is also blunt and mean to a point when he wants to be. Furthermore, it's not like she's done much to hide the fact that maybe she isn't the most experienced girl in the world when it comes to things like that because she doesn't have much practice. And the practice she _does _have should apparently even be considered real.

"If you don't like me, maybe you shouldn't have done it then," she says stiffly, and she knows it sounds lame, but she can't make herself think of anything else.

"_You _were the one seducing the shit out of _me_ and _begging _me to fuck you. I have a dick, what the fuck did you think I was gonna do?"

"I guess I was stupid to think that something like that would mean anything to you," she says quietly, and he rolls his eyes.

"You said it yourself, Rachel. You're not a fucking virgin. And just because maybe that was the first time you've ever been fucked _correctly _doesn't mean it was some big fucking deal."

"Whatever." She normally hates when people use that word as a response, but she can't really think of anything more fitting at the moment. "You should probably go back in and apologize to your sister again. I think she got her feelings pretty hurt when you forgot she existed."

She sees the workings of a _fuck you _right behind his eyes, but he doesn't say it out loud. She doesn't really give him the opportunity because she finally gets in the car and leaves. She knows she should feel bad for playing at his weaknesses and insecurities. He's _not _a bad brother, and out of everything he doesn't care about, that's something he actually _does _care about. Still, she can't make herself feel guilty because he's sort of just made her feel like the biggest fool in the world.

She should have known better. She should have known that he would only hurt her because it's not like he's a nice person. She's known him since literally the day she was born, and he has never been her friend. He's never even been nice to her. He was a jerk even when they were in _preschool. _And he was always a trouble-maker. Always in trouble. When his dad left after fifth grade, he just got worse. "Acting out" is probably what a child psychologist would call it. It was really just bullying. That's who he is, that's who he's always been. She knows this perfectly well, considering the fact that a lot of his bullying has been aimed directly at her.

She _knows _better.

But she was blinded, just like so many other girls before her and an infinite number to come after. He is beautiful and charming and a really, _really _good liar. She let herself think that maybe he cared and maybe they were friends and maybe that _meant _something, but clearly it doesn't. Clearly _she _doesn't.

Finn would never treat her like this. No matter what. He would never be this mean to her, even if she hurt him in the worst possible way. She _has _hurt him in the worst possible way, and he still isn't this mean to her. Finn is so nice, and he loves her. And he's so _safe. _Why did she ever let this happen?

When she gets home, she goes to her room and pulls out her phone. Scrolling down to Finn's name, she types out a message that's never been more sincere than it is in that exact moment.

"_Thank you for always being nice to me and never doing things to intentionally hurt me. I know you said you don't want to be friends, but I still love you."_

Her finger lingers over the send button for about five seconds. She isn't sure whether she should press it or not. She isn't even sure what her message means, and she knows it's going to confuse him even more. Still, her finger moves quickly, and the message is sent.

A few seconds later, she gets a reply. She opens her phone and is shocked to read a two word message.

"_Fuck you."_

At first, she thinks it's Finn's reply. That's who she's expecting to hear from anyway, considering the fact that she just texted him. But it's not a reply at all. It's a new message, which happens to arrive at both the most ironic and the most fitting of moments.

Apparently, he's finally decided to say the words that were flickering there behind his eyes just minutes before.

In one sentence, two words, Puck has just told her everything she needs to know to put the seal on the deal for good. She was stupid to believe anything else anyway.

People don't change. They just get better at lying.

… … …

A/N: Back to Rachel! Thanks for reviewing the last chapter, hope you enjoyed this one (and aren't too angry)!


	13. Chapter 13

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

He doesn't go back to bullying her.

She isn't really sure she expects him to, but she's not very surprised when he doesn't. Instead, he goes about ignoring her entirely. He doesn't acknowledge that she's alive, nor does he pay her any attention at any point. If it weren't for the fact that she sees him on a regular basis, she might forget all about his entire existence. Or at least the part of his existence that was intertwined with her life. It's hard to forget him, though, when he goes right back to his old ways of being over the top and outrageous and doing things just for the pure thrill of getting in trouble. He starts fighting quite a bit, and he goes back to torturing people who are smaller than him or who have less social stock. He doesn't specifically target her, but he doesn't come to her rescue when any of his so-called friends do, either.

That's okay, though. Rachel is self-sufficient. She has never needed anyone to protect her or take care of her. Sure, it's been _nice _having someone around who was willing, but that doesn't mean she _needs _it. She doesn't. She's put up with being picked on her entire life, so it's not like she doesn't know how to handle herself.

She has no friends, though. For the first time in over a year, she's seriously _all _alone. Last year, she had Finn. This year she's had them both. Now she's got neither, and that hurts a little bit. While Puck totally ignores her existence, Finn just sort of co-exists in the same universe. They don't have any classes together, but he doesn't go out of his way to ignore her in the hallways or anything. He'll speak if he sees her. Sometimes he'll smile at her. She thinks he's still hurting a lot, and she can't really blame him. He hasn't mentioned the text message she sent him telling him she still loves him, and she thinks that's probably because he realizes she didn't mean love in an _I want you to be my boyfriend _sort of way. It's love in a _You're the nicest person I know, so thank you for that _sort of way. He isn't mean to her, but he isn't overly-friendly. They don't hang out or joke around or anything, but at least he doesn't hate her. Or at least he doesn't show it if he does.

Rachel doesn't know which one she misses more, and she thinks maybe she misses them both equally. Maybe in different ways. She misses having a boyfriend- misses Finn always being there to hug her and kiss her, and she misses having someone to always say, _"I love you," _and really mean it. On a superficial level, she misses the validation she got from it. Having a boyfriend always means that at least someone thinks you're pretty. It means that someone wants _you _and that they want you enough to actually commit to you and stand up with you in front of the whole school. Even though she's never been popular, having a popular boyfriend made her feel like maybe she was worth at least _something _in this teenage wasteland they call high school. It was nice. And she misses it.

She misses having a friend, too- misses Puck playfully teasing her and making fun of her with the hint of a smile behind his eyes. She misses him treating her like a normal teenager, and she misses him forcing her to do normal teenage things and to stop being so focused and serious for once in her life. She misses the way he just talked to her straight and never tried to sugarcoat anything. He is very straight-forward and knows a lot more than most people do in high school about what really matters and what doesn't. She misses hanging out with him and his sister and just doing nothing. On a different level, she misses the other stuff, too- the stuff that doesn't have to do with forays into gateway drug use and underage alcohol consumption. She misses the way he made her feel things she never felt before- the way she felt every time he touched her or kissed her or looked at her with those damn color-changing eyes. She misses that.

But the facts remain the same- she has neither boy, and she probably won't have either of them again. She needs to accept this and move on. She needs to take a little bit of advice from Noah Puckerman and realize the truth- it's high school, it's not going to matter in two years. This is easier said than accepted, though. Two years seems like an eternity, and even though she's nearly halfway through her junior year, graduation doesn't seem like something that's even on the immediate horizon. She's always had big dreams- big dreams that get her far away from here and get her to a stage in the Nederlander or the Minksoff or the Palace or the St. James or the Shubert. She needs a stage that's far away from the William McKinley auditorium, and she needs it _soon. _The closer she gets to the possibility, though, the further away the reality seems. The older she gets, the more stuck in the _now _she seems to be. No matter what she knows to be true, at sixteen, she just can't _see _very far beyond seventeen. Everything bad that happens seems like the end of the world, and she can't see it getting any better. She'd wager to say she's depressed, but she thinks a more likely opinion would be that her short-lived delve into the life of a normal teenager just reinforced her normal teenage emotions and hormones.

A couple of weeks pass, and she spends them focusing on her schoolwork and devoting extra practice time to her vocal upkeep. Her voice teacher mentioned that she needed to be doing more consistent warm-ups, and Rachel has taken this news very seriously. She convinced her dads that she needs an extra private lesson each week, and she spends at least two hours each evening caring for her voice and working it out to its full potential. She misses not being able to sing on a regular basis, and even though she shouldn't, she misses glee.

She doesn't miss the drama or too many of the people. She doesn't miss the director or the song selection or the mediocre choreography. What she _does _miss is performing, and every day when she walks by the signup sheet that's hanging on the bulletin board, she wants to add her name to the list of made-up pranksters. New Directions is seeking new members, and she knows they're getting desperate just to fill the slots for eligibility because _no one _is biting. She almost feels bad for them.

_Almost._

One day after Spanish, though, Mr. Schuester stops her. Actually, he stops her _and _Puck. She's packing up her things, and he's already halfway to the door when Mr. Schue stops them and says he needs to speak with them. Rachel expects Puck to just blow him off and keep walking with the Cheerio he's currently in the midst of groping, so she's surprised when he stops and actually waits. When the room is cleared, Mr. Schuester looks at them seriously.

"I want you guys to come back to glee." He says this very bluntly, and Rachel can tell that a part of him is dying a little bit just having to do this. She stares at him, giving no reaction whatsoever, and he goes on. "I know that maybe things are still weird given the current situation, but we need you. I'll make sure that if you return, everyone behaves like mature adults and doesn't make this anymore difficult than it already is."

"Does that include you, Mr. Schuester?" Rachel raises her eyebrows, surprised at her bluntness but figuring that if he needs her that badly that she has a right to be a little bit rude. If she didn't know better, she would swear that Puck smirks at her question, appreciating the total forward badassness of it.

Mr. Schue looks annoyed, and he gives her that sort of half-warning but not worth it glance. "Rachel, we will all be very appreciative if you return." He ignores her question altogether. "If _both _of you return," he adds. "We need you."

Puck says, "Fuck that," at exactly the same time Rachel says, "Fine." They both stop and look at each other. It's probably the first time they've made eye contact since their argument in his driveway two weeks ago. It stops her for a second.

Mr. Schuester looks like he doesn't know whether to be ecstatic or worried that he's only filled one of the two needed spots. One is better than none, though, and Rachel knows she's the star anyway. They can't win without her. Puck is good, but he's replaceable. Still, they need twelve, and even with Rachel, they've only got eleven.

Rachel decides to take this opportunity to lay out some ground rules. She turns away from Puck and looks straight back at her teacher. "I want to firmly state, though, that if I return, I will no longer operate under any sort of team player guise. No one else in that club does, so I refuse to constantly be chastised for wanting to express my opinions and showcase my talent. Furthermore, I will not hold my tongue when people are rude to me or treat me unfairly, and this includes you, Mr. Schuester. You do not treat me fairly, and I won't stand by and let blatant favoritism go without being pointed out."

"Rachel-"

"I'm not finished," she cuts him off. "I will come back to glee because my voice teacher says I need more constant vocal exposure. I am not doing this out of any sort of charity toward you or anyone else in glee. I am doing this for my own benefit, and I don't care if any of them know it. They are not my friends, and I am sick of constantly caring so much and seeking their approval. I need glee for my college applications, and I need it for experience. I do _not _need it for friends, and I will no longer pretend that I do."

She says all of this very quickly and doesn't even take a break until she is finished. Mr. Schue is staring at her like he wants to yell at her or put her in detention or something. She can tell that Puck is staring at her, too, but she doesn't look over to confirm. She knows that he's either looking at her like she's completely crazy (which will infuriate her), or he's looking at her like she's a traitor (which will hurt her), _or _he's looking at her with approval (which will make her happier than it should). She doesn't want to know his reaction, so she keeps her eyes trained on Mr. Schuester.

"Rachel," he says again, this time slowly. "I truly appreciate your willingness to rejoin the team. However, we still have to work as an ensemble, not simply a solo. I hope you will respect that."

"If I receive respect, I have no problem giving it," she says honestly.

Mr. Schue doesn't say anything for a second, and she figures that he knows this is a battle not worth fighting. She is telling the truth, and he knows it. So he just nods and says, "Thank you," before turning his head. "Puck, I hope you will reconsider."

"Not a chance, but really good effort, man."

When they're out in the hallway, Rachel expects him to hurry away from her in the opposite direction. But he doesn't. He says the first words he's said to her in weeks.

"Way to stay strong, Rach."

She rolls her eyes and keeps walking, noticing the way he keeps perfect pace with her. "I was being serious," she says. "I'm not doing it for any of them. I'm doing it because my voice needs it and because I need as many extracurriculars as possible for my college applications. You should think about that, too," she tells him. "A lot of schools will give big scholarships for music, especially to boys."

"Yeah, no," he says without missing a beat. "I don't plan to go to college singing and dancing. I plan to actually be _normal, _thanks."

Rachel expects no less, so she just shrugs. "Fine," she tells him. "It's your own money."

She stops at her locker, and he stops right along with her. "They're just going to go back to treating you like shit, you know that, right?" She doesn't hear actual malice in his voice, but she doesn't trust him at all now, so she's careful. "They still fucking hate you."

"I don't care, Noah," she says, putting away her Spanish book and turning to look at him. "No one likes me, so what does it matter? They're no different from the rest of the school. No different from you and all your friends."

"Don't put me in that shit." He sort of glares at her, and she wants to scream. She doesn't _get _him.

"Right," she says sarcastically. "Because you've been just _lovely _to me."

"You're the one who's been ignoring me."

She actually chokes out a laugh at the sheer idiocy coming out of his mouth. "Fuck you is a pretty clear message."

He just shrugs, and it's infuriating. "You pissed me off that day."

"So that makes it alright for you to say horrible things?"

He shrugs again.

Grabbing her next book, she shoves it into he bag and slams her locker. "Leave me alone, Noah. I get it."

"Yeah, you were always the smart one, right?"

He says it to her back, but she keeps walking. She isn't going to stand around and have stupid conversations that have absolutely no point and will bring no resolution whatsoever. She doesn't have time for it, and she doesn't _trust _it. Mostly she doesn't trust herself. Even when he's being a total jerk to her, she's still so freaking _attracted _to him. She realizes this now, and it terrifies her. It also makes her feel incredibly ridiculous.

She can't stop thinking about him. Even though they've had virtually no contact over the past couple of weeks, she's spent every single night unable to fall asleep, thinking about nothing other than the way his hands felt on her body and the way his lips felt on her own. She knows it's ridiculous, but she can't help it. She wishes she'd never know, then she wouldn't miss it. But she _does _miss it, and there's some ridiculously pathetic about that. Also, horrifying.

When she makes her way into the choir room that afternoon, she doesn't know what to expect. She isn't sure if the news of her return has spread or if Mr. Schue has kept it quiet. She certainly hasn't told anyone, and the only other person who knows is Puck, and he definitely doesn't speak to anyone in glee, either. Except for Santana, ironically, since he's apparently still having sex with her if them coming out of the janitor's closet together looking totally disheveled and guilty is any indication. But that's neither here nor there.

The room isn't full yet, but she isn't the first one there. Kurt, Mercedes, Mike, Matt, and Quinn are all already there. They look up when she walks into the room, and no one says anything. She thinks they look surprised, so she's guessing news of her return hasn't spread yet.

"Are you back?" Quinn asks, raising her eyebrows carefully.

Rachel nods and sets her bag down beside one of the chairs. She sits down and says nothing, but she forces herself to keep her face void of emotion.

"Is Puck?" Quinn asks that question as well, and Rachel looks over at her and sees that she seems almost concerned. She wonders how much of it is real.

"Not that I'm aware of," Rachel says carelessly.

She doesn't miss the look that passes between Kurt and Mercedes, and she bites her tongue to keep from telling them exactly what's on her mind. She can ignore stupidity if she tries hard enough. Matt flashes her what seems to be a genuine smile, and she returns it in a much smaller capacity.

Artie and Tina show up a few minutes later, and both of them look at her strangely, though neither comes out and asks if she's really returning. Santana and Brittany come in right after them, and Rachel's a little shocked to see that it's Brittany who actually rushes over to her chair and hugs her. She wasn't expecting any hugs at all actually, but certainly not from Santana's BFF. Santana, on the other hand, seems completely unfazed by Rachel's sudden appearance and just walks past her almost as if she doesn't even see her there. She isn't mean, just completely indifferent. Finn is the last one to arrive, and he stops when he sees her sitting there. She offers him a small smile, and he shoots one back. Then he walks over, takes the seat next to her, and smiles again.

When Mr. Schuester arrives, everyone has taken their seats, but no one is doing the usual whispering and joking that normally takes place for the first few minutes of practice. Everyone is just sitting there saying nothing, and Rachel knows most of it has to do with her. They resent her, and something about that makes her happy.

"Okay, listen up, guys," Mr. Schue says in his normal 'pep-talk' voice. Rachel hasn't missed it at all. "Rachel has agreed to join us again. We should all be thankful that she's willing to put aside her personal differences and work as a member of this team to help us succeed at Sectionals." She's pretty sure that the part about work as a member of the team has a double meaning with the second part directed solely at her, but she doesn't care.

"Should we be thankful she threw a hissy fit and left in the first place when things didn't go her way?"

"Shut up, Kurt." It's Finn who speaks up, and Rachel is honestly surprised. Finn doesn't normally speak up against people, even when they're wrong. And he is _especially _prone to handling Kurt with kitten gloves, given the circumstance of their families. So it's nice to hear him take up for her. "She's doing us a favor."

Rachel doesn't even try to hide her smugness as she turns her head slightly to the left and raises her eyebrows at Kurt. He looks incredibly put off by the fact that she is both back in glee and, it seems, back in Finn's good graces. Rachel has no doubt that he expected Finn to hate her and wish bad things on her after the news of her betrayal broke. It makes her feel very happy to prove Kurt wrong on anything- _especially _on matters related to Finn.

"We need to _all _make an effort to be a team," Mr. Schue stresses. "No matter what's going on outside of glee, we need to work together if we want to have any sort of chance at winning."

"We still only have eleven people." It's Tina who points this out. "We need someone else."

"I'm working on Puck," Mr. Schue says, shaking his head a little bit. "We still need to be on the lookout for recruits, though."

Rachel tunes him out after that. He can 'work on' Puck all he wants, but Rachel sees very little chance of it working. Not that she cares, of course. Being in here with Finn is bad enough. She doesn't really want to add Puck to the mix, too. After rehearsal, though, it's Finn who waits for as she gathers her things up and offers to give her a ride home. She accepts because she knows both of her fathers are working late, so the alternative is walking. It's been raining off and on all day, and she doesn't particularly feel like ruining her shoes, so she follows him out to his car and gets in after he holds the door open for her.

"It's really awesome that you came back," he tells her literally the second he joins her in the car. "We really need you."

Rachel shrugs and tries not to show too much interest. "I have personal reasons for needing glee. I decided to stop letting other people hold me back."

He nods as he starts to pull out of the lot. "Yeah, don't worry about them, Rach. They're just jealous."

She's surprised that he is able to make such a coherent observation about people worship him. "They don't like that I'm back."

"Who cares? They all know we need you, they're just bitter. But I'm really glad you decided to come back."

She thinks he's probably telling the truth. She doesn't let herself try and figure out exactly _why _he's glad. She knows he appreciates her talent, but there's a part of her that hopes he's glad for other reasons as well. Maybe not romantic reasons, but she hopes that he's glad she's back for some sort of personal reasons.

"We're still one short," she says needlessly, reiterating what's already been pointed out in practice. "Sectionals are next week."

"Maybe you can get Puck to come back." She's surprised to hear this, and when she glances over at him, she sees that the smile is gone from his face. His words sound forced but resolute. She doesn't even think he's being sarcastic.

"We aren't exactly speaking too much right now," she says quietly. She doesn't know why she's having _this _conversation at all. Especially with _Finn. _"I didn't think you'd want him back anyway."

"We need twelve people," Finn says dully. "He knows all the music."

"Oh. Yeah."

"Why aren't you speaking? I thought you guys were best friends." She sees him look over at her rather harshly, and she focuses her gaze on her lap.

"No." That's all she says. She doesn't really think she _needs _to give more of an explanation. It's not like she's required to explain her relationships to Finn now that he's no longer her boyfriend. Besides, it's sort of hard to explain something she's completely confused about on her own.

"Well, anyway," Finn seems to realize she isn't going to spill all her secrets, and he's nice enough not to pressure her to. "Thanks for coming back to glee. You're really awesome, Rachel."

Something inside of her seems to swell at those words, and she hates herself for letting them mean so much to her. She smiles at him, and things almost feel back to normal. She's glad that he doesn't hate her anymore. She's glad that she isn't hurting him more with every passing minute. Maybe they _can _be friends.

When they pull up to her house, though, and she sees a familiar pickup parked in her driveway, she thinks maybe she spoke too soon.

Finn's demeanor changes greatly the second he sees the truck. She can tell that he's clenching his teeth and trying very hard not to say whatever's on his mind.

"I don't know why he's here," she says honestly. Mostly because she _doesn't _know. He never comes to her house anymore.

"Yeah," Finn says blankly. "See you around."

He doesn't give her any other type of goodbye or anything. He also doesn't help her with her bag or do any of the otherwise chivalrous things he normally does. She tries not to let it bother her, but there's part of her that _is _bothered.

Rachel gets out of his car and starts walking up the driveway. She watches with irritation as Puck jumps down from his truck and turns around to look at Finn. Rachel doesn't do the same because she doesn't want to know what sort of look is being passed between the two of them. She hears Finn pull away before she's even halfway up the drive.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, not even trying to keep the irritation out of her voice.

He seems amused by her tone, which only bugs her more. She thinks he probably enjoys annoying her, so maybe she should work on letting on less when he's pissing her off. He's like a six year old- acknowledging bad behavior only encourages him.

"Just hanging out," he says lazily, and she doesn't miss the way he looks her up and down as she continues to walk up the driveway. It's ridiculous how confident he is in the way he thinks he can just outright _stare _at people and not even worry about common decency or anything of the sort. "How was glee?"

"Annoying," she says honestly because there's no point in lying. "I still hate them all."

"They still hate you?"

She nods.

"Fuck 'em," he says shrugging. "Jealous bitches."

She wants to smile, but she doesn't. Instead, she stops beside his truck and looks up at him. "What are you doing here?" she asks again.

"I came to see if you wanted to chill." He shrugs again. "I didn't know your boyfriend was going to be bringing you home."

"Bullshit," she says instantly, not even surprised at how easy it is to swear around him. She has a feeling he knew _exactly _who would be bringing her home and that that's exactly the reason why he's parked in her driveway.

That infuriating smirk is back, and he catches her hip with one of his hands. "That's really sexy when you talk dirty like that." He tugs her a little bit, but she keeps her feet dug firmly into the ground and crosses her arms defensively.

"Stop touching me."

"Why?" he raises an eyebrow challengingly. "You never complained before."

She takes control of the situation and steps away from his grip. He doesn't fight her. He just leans against the side of his truck and watches her.

"You need to go," she tells him firmly. "I have to study."

"Can I come help?"

"No."

"Invite me in, Rach. Your dads aren't home."

She tries really hard to ignore the natural reactions her body seems to be having to him. She _hates _him for having so much power over her. No one else has ever been able to do that, and it pisses her off that he can.

"You are _not _coming in." She says it so forcefully that she almost feels like she's trying to convince herself as well.

"Then I guess we'll have to do this shit out here in front of all your neighbors."

She doesn't trust him. Not even a _tiny _bit. "Do what?" she asks suspiciously.

"Have this fucking conversation about how I need to fuck you again."

She stares at him. She wants to be shocked, but she's not. Not really. _Mortified, _yes. _Shocked, _no. It does, however, take her a few seconds to actually form words in her mouth, and when she does, they're pretty pathetic.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?" he asks, and he grabs both of her hips this time and yanks her forward until she's almost flat up against him. There're only a couple of inches separating them. She stares up at him, trying with every ounce of willpower she has _not _to react. "You're hot, I'm hot… What's the big fucking deal? You claim you don't have a boyfriend… I sure the fuck don't have a girlfriend. So why shouldn't we keep hooking up?"

A huge part of her brain screams that there's _no reason _why they shouldn't keep hooking up. The vast majority of her body seems to agree with this, and she almost just pushes herself up onto tiptoe and kisses him like crazy. She doesn't, though. A tiny part of her brain still holds onto logic, and, as the smart girl that she is, this is the part she chooses to listen to.

"Because you're an asshole," she says bluntly. "And I don't know why I ever thought you might be anything else."

"_I'm _an asshole?" He smirks and shakes his head. "Baby, maybe you forgot, but this whole _thing _is your fault. You're the one who started all this shit in the first place."

Logically, she knows he's right. This _is _her fault. She started it, and then she dragged it on. She hasn't been fair to anyone- not herself, not to him, and not to Finn. In one way or another, she's lied to all of them and done things to make them all miserable, herself included. Still, right now, she's not going to give into him and let him think that he has any sort of control over her whatsoever. Because doing so will only spell bad, bad things for her, she knows.

"Leave me alone, Noah." She tries to keep her voice even, despite the fact that part of her wants to kiss him and part of her wants to cry. "I _know _I started this, so I'm trying to end it. Now please, let me go."

"Yeah, okay." Instead of doing as she asks and letting her go, he tugs her forward the last few inches until she really is pressed right up against him. His eyes are burning into hers, and she knows that an intelligent person would just look away, but she can't remember her own name right now, much less anything of further intelligence. "But now you know what it feels like, and you won't forget." She knows exactly what the 'it' is because he moves his hips a little bit against hers, and she literally feels the breath catch in her throat. Something deep inside of her clenches tightly, and she's terrified because that's a reaction she's _never _had just by standing face to face with another person.

"Please stop." The words come out much breathier than she means for them to. She hates herself for not even sounding the least bit convincing.

He lets go of, steps away from his truck and away from her. She tries to ignore the dull ache she know feels from where they pressed together seconds before. Her throat feels dry, and she feels a little bit dazed as she watches him turn around and open the truck to his door.

"See ya later, Rach." Right before he climbs in, he turns around and flashes her another smirk. "I'll be waiting for your call."

He drives away, leaving her standing in her driveway barely able to breathe. She doesn't know what's come over her or why she's turned into some cliché trashy romance novel vixen. She also doesn't know why there are tears stinging the corners of her eyes.

"_I'll be waiting for your call."_

That one sentence floats through her head as she stares into nothingness. She doesn't want to give him the satisfaction, but there's a part of her that wants to tear her phone out right now and call him, begging him to come back. She doesn't, though. She has dignity.

She just also now has a terrible ache that won't go away.

_Shit._

… … …

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews on the last chapter! This one was less angsty, so hopefully that will make up for the extremeness of the last one. I'm really glad a lot of people are conflicted on how to feel about Rachel and that not everyone just feels sorry for her. She is a flawed character, and she does bad things sometimes. I don't think she's perfect, and I don't want to write her that way. So I'm glad there's at least some confliction about her actions. Thanks for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

Rachel doesn't even last an entire night.

In fact, by nine o'clock, she's in her bedroom with the door locked and the stereo on staring at her phone. She knows that her dads are right down the hall and that they could walk by her room at any time. She also knows that they certainly are not above eavesdropping, and this (possible) conversation is _definitely _not one she wants anyone else hearing.

She doesn't know why she's even entertaining the possibility. Calling him is going to complicate things even further, and she doesn't want that. She certainly doesn't _need _that. As if life isn't complicated enough. For someone who has been so dramatically inclined her entire life, she's really starting to learn that drama? Fucking _blows._

Ugh. _Clearly_ she needs to get him out of her system ASAP. She feels like she's about two steps away from tossing someone in a dumpster.

Without thinking anymore about it, she hits the send button and puts the phone to her ear. Part of her hopes that he won't answer. She isn't sure why she even called in the first place if she's just going to hope for no answer. She doesn't try figure it out. Really, she doesn't have time because he picks up on the third ring.

"I knew you couldn't stay away."

The cocky tone of his voice infuriates her, but she doesn't give it a second thought. "Look," she says sharply, "I'm only going to say this once, so you need to listen. I think you're an asshole. I think you're mean and immature, and I think you're possibly the most bipolar person I've ever met, and that includes my Uncle Matt who is actually clinically diagnosed. I don't understand _half _the things that come out of your mouth, and I certainly don't understand why you behave the way that you do. You need to grow up and maybe for once in your life think about the way you treat people before all of it comes back to you tenfold."

She doesn't even take a breath until she finishes her entire spill. When she's done, Puck takes a second and then says, "Wow, Rachel. You know how to make a dude feel _awesome."_

"You don't deserve to feel awesome."

"Just what the fuck did I do to you?" The confident teasing disappears temporarily. It's replaced with… something else. She doesn't know.

She opens her mouth to tell him _exactly _what all he's done to her- starting with the time he poured purple paint all over her white dress when they were four, carrying on through the time he told the entire fifth grade that she was born a hermaphrodite (and pronounced hermacklolite…), not to mention the slushies that started at thirteen and all the less-than-appropriate pictures he helped his cheerleader girlfriend draw of her in eighth grade… And that was all before high school.

Now, of course, it's at an entirely new level. Which is probably even worse.

"Well, _Noah," _she says his name snidely, "I do believe you have tortured me since we were in _preschool. _I don't really recall you _ever _being nice to me. In fact, you've been downright terrible."

"Why are you calling me, Rachel?" He jumps right to the point, and she wants to scream. He's _such _a jerk.

"Because," she huffs out angrily, "I wanted to tell you that I think you're right." No point beating around the bush- if he's going to jump straight to it, so is she.

"I'm right? About what?" The annoying tone is back, and she can hear the smirk through the phone.

She almost chickens out. She _almost _does, but she doesn't. What would the point be in all this if she just checks out now and doesn't go through with it? She's not scared of him.

"About there being no real reason why we shouldn't keep seeing each other."

"Hooking up," he corrects her. "I don't _see _anyone. Unless you're naked," he adds after a beat. "Then I'll take a peek."

She rolls her eyes even though she knows he can't see her. "Whatever," she says hatefully. "I'm _trying _to tell you I'm okay with it."

The second the words are out of her mouth, she realizes what a whore she really is. She would never have pictured herself in this situation or saying these things. It's deplorable, and she's absolutely outraged at her own behavior. She's also curiously unable to _control _her own behavior. It's ridiculous.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to resist. I thought it'd take more than four hours, though."

"Look," she snaps. "If you don't want to do this, tell me right now, and that's fine. You're getting on my nerves."

"You know I have a crazy bitch fetish, right? So keep it up, it's hot."

"A crazy…" She sighs loudly at the fact that he's once again talking about something completely insane that makes no sense.

"Santana," he explains needlessly.

She rolls her eyes again. "If I'm agreeing to _hook up _with you," she hisses the words because they sound so ridiculous and juvenile, "maybe you should refrain from mentioning the breeding ground for herpes that you so often frequent."

"Yo," he says immediately, "she doesn't have _herpes. _Don't fucking start that damn rumor, shit."

"What am I even doing?" she asks more to herself than to him. She really doesn't know. This is… ludicrous.

"Sneaking out of your house and coming over to mine, so I can shut you the hell up in the best way possible." He answers her hypothetical question without hesitation.

"I am _not _sneaking out tonight," she says firmly. "It's already after nine, and there's no way I could get away with it while my dads are still awake."

"Then tell them you have to fucking study biology or some shit, and then come over here, and I'll tutor you."

Her face heats up at the horrifying forwardness of his words, but there's also a part of her that has enough dignity to be disgusted. _"Tomorrow," _she tells him. "After the game."

"Awesome," he says smugly. "Text me later if you want to practice your dirty talk or something."

She hangs up on him. What in the _world _is she doing? She has seriously lost her damn mind.

It rains the whole next day. It's raining when she wakes up, and it's raining when she gets to school. First, second, third, fourth periods… All rain. It stops for about thirty minutes around 1:45, but then it starts right back up. The end of the week announcements come over the loud speaker about ten minutes before bell, and Principal Figgins announces that that night's scheduled football game against Wapakoneta has been canceled due to weather. This means only one thing to Rachel- her deal gets to be paid back that much earlier.

She isn't sure whether to be glad or horrified by this revelation.

He doesn't call her or text her or anything to confirm any details, but she goes to temple that night with her dads on the off-chance that he'll be there. There's a good chance he's yet to break the news to his mom that football's canceled for the evening, but if she's found out, Rachel's pretty sure that Mrs. Puckerman will be dragging him behind her obediently, just as she has every free Friday night since he sprung the whole best friend's girlfriend… pregnant… _mine_ thing.

She's right in her assumption. He shows up with his mom and his little sister, and Bekah runs straight up to Rachel and hugs her before any other sort of greetings can be exchanged. Puck just raises an eyebrow at her that she tries to ignore. His mom wastes no time in disappearing off to sit with her friends and, pretty obviously, giving them some time to 'talk.'

Rachel once again finds herself sitting between him and Bekah near the back of the synagogue. Only this time, it's not the siblings that are arguing in hushed whispers, it's Rachel. And _this _idiot.

He wastes no time whatsoever before whispering to her and suggesting that they sneak out through the side doors and go "get it on" in the bathroom. Rachel, in all honesty, doesn't hate the idea, but she _knows _better.

"Yes, I'm sure God would just _love _that," she hisses, turning her head just enough so that neither Bekah, nor anyone else, can hear.

"He's not gonna like smite us or something. He knows we can't resist this shit. " He smiles at her, and she resists the urge to smile back. While she's impressed that he knows words like _smite, _she's disgusted that he seems to have no fear of such things. She isn't the most devoutly religious person in the world by any means, but she knows better than to test her luck.

"Stop it," she tells him sharply. "You are being completely disrespectful."

Puck rolls his eyes and whispers lowly in her ear, "God's the one who told me to fuck you in the first place. Trust me. He won't care."

"_God _told you that?" she scoffs in disbelief.

He just nods. "Yep. In a wet dream. _Damn_, it's fucking _nice_ to be Chosen sometimes, ain't it…"

Rachel can't even _look _at him after that. Her eyes immediately drop to her lap, and she feels heat rising straight up her neck into her face. She knows, of course, that she's just given him exactly the reaction he's been waiting for her, but she is too embarrassed to care. There is no good reason why she should even _acknowledge _him after that, considering the fact that she's pretty certain they might both burst into flames at any given second.

She thinks there's even a greater chance of that happening when he very slyly slips a hand to her knee and runs a fingertip just barely over the inside of her kneecap. Rachel doesn't move at first and actually just _watches _his finger move because it's honestly as if she's been caught in a standstill and physically cannot move. She doesn't realize she's holding her breath, either, until she suddenly feels like her lungs are about to explode. That's what snaps her out of it and gives her the strength to slap his hand away and glare at him. He just smiles at her, and she crosses her arms and faces the front again. She does, however, notice that Bekah is watching _all _of it very closely, though she says absolutely nothing.

Two hours later, his hand is back on her knee, but they're safely away from the synagogue (and also, God's wrath) and are inside of his truck, which is safely parked in their favorite (and really _only) _getaway. The parking lot is just as quiet and dark as always, but it no longer creeps Rachel out like it used to. She's stopped expecting to see victims of radioactive testing running out of the woods to kidnap and eat them. True, she hasn't been here in a few weeks, but it's become strangely routine and familiar.

He doesn't spend any time joking with her or talking to her or anything. He doesn't even ask her if she's cold. He just moves straight in the second his truck is turned off and starts kissing her. She doesn't mind, of course, because, ultimately, this _is _what she came out here for. Still, she can't help but feel a little bit used. She wonders if this is how he normally treats girls and thinks that it probably is. Besides herself, he really _doesn't _ever just hang out with girls. He _sleeps _with a lot of girls, but Rachel doesn't imagine they exchange much small talk considering the fact that he doesn't ever seem to have actual conversations with _any _of them in public. The exception to that rule (of course) is Santana, but Rachel's starting to realize that Santana's pretty much the exception to _every _rule where Puck's concerned. She wishes it didn't bother her as much as it does.

For awhile, though, Puck was actually being _nice _to her. They were having real conversations, and he was saying things that went beyond just ridiculously overt sexual innuendos. He made her laugh and treated her like an actual human being. He seemed to really enjoy spending time with her, and she definitely enjoyed spending time with him. Despite the fact that she knows she shouldn't, she misses that. She misses the time when she thought maybe his tough guy exterior was really hiding a nice guy who just had an extreme need to overcompensate. Now she knows that was all just lie. He really _is _just a jerk. It's not an act. He's a bastard.

Still, he's a bastard who is very talented with his mouth, and she's not even going to _pretend _that she doesn't love kissing him. He's going in full force now, and she doesn't miss the way his tongue licks across the roof of her mouth or the way one hand slides further up her knee while the other one fists in her hair.

She lets herself be totally distracted by this and kisses him back. He's slid across the seat and is nearly completely on her side, which leaves her crushed somewhere between the door and his body. She's a little bit surprised by how completely forward he's being because, up until now, he's usually been pretty gentle and slow-going with her. He keeps pace if she speeds things up, but as far as initiating things, he's never really rushed. Now, though, he's kissing her like he literally might die if their lips separate. She can't really breathe, but she finds that she doesn't care that much. Not when his hand is sliding further up her thigh and making her remember all the things he's so, _so _good at.

"God, you're fucking hot," he mumbles, pulling away finally for half a second before he starts pushing her sweater off her shoulders. He pulls it all the way off and only just barely snags it on one of her wrists before he drops it into the floorboard.

She ignores the fact that it's mid-November and that it's _cold _outside. Her cardigan was the only thing keeping her warm, but she doesn't really mind. His hands feel pretty damn hot sliding up her arms and digging into her basically bare shoulders. She doesn't know how he manages to push her entire head aside using just his own, but his mouth's on her neck, and the fact that she has a strong feeling he's _purposely _trying to leave a mark doesn't really bother her as much as it should. An embarrassing sort of noise slips out when his teeth bite into her skin, and she feels him smile against her neck.

She notices that he's looking at her suddenly when she feels his mouth leave her completely. Her eyes meet his, and she sees something familiar there for a split second before he smirks at her and presses his lips back to hers. He's a lot more handsy than usual, and he doesn't seem shy at all about touching her in all sorts of inappropriate ways. There's a part of her that knows she should be annoyed by this, but she can't focus on that when everywhere he touches seems to immediately ignite with fire. She needs to have some sort of dignity- she _knows _this- but it's really, really difficult.

Before she knows it, he's got both of his hands at the bottom hem of her dress, and he's tugging it upwards. Against her own better judgment, Rachel lifts her hips and actually _helps _him remove it. He slips it straight up her body and over her head, and the next thing she knows, it's falling right beside her sweater into the floor, and she's sitting there in her underwear.

She's sitting there in her _underwear._

Now, despite the fact that they've already had sex and already done plenty of other things, she's never actually had her clothes off in front of him. Up until now, he's always stilled her hands whenever she started to get undressed. She's always thought it was strange, but there was something about it that was weirdly sweet about it as well. Now, though, she's pretty much completely exposed, and she can't help but feel at least a little uneasy about it.

"Jesus _fuck," _he mumbles just seconds before he grabs her and turns her so that she's laid out completely on the bench seat of his truck. There's not a lot of room, but he's apparently had enough practice to have this sort of thing down to a science. She finds this fact both strangely attractive _and _disgusting.

His lips are everywhere, down her neck, across her chest, even down her stomach. His hands follow them, moving all over her body in a way she's never before experienced. In fact, this entire experience is new, and if not for the fact that her brain is quickly shutting down, she's sure she'd have enough sense to be concerned about this. It's all a little bit too much too fast, and even though technically, it's not like they can do much worse than they've already done, this just _feels _different.

"Noah," she manages to choke out when she forces her brain to start functioning just a tiny bit. He stills for a second, so she stumbles over her words but finally gets it out. "Just… Just slow down a little bit… Please…"

He doesn't reply, just slides his tongue slowly across her stomach and even lets it dip into her bellybutton for a quick second. She full forgets how to think. Seriously, her eyes just fall shut on their own accord, and she also loses the ability to breathe normally. She can't focus on anything at all except for the fact that she wants him to touch her everywhere all at once. And maybe never stop.

He keeps mumbling things, but she loses the ability to process them. She knows they're filthy, though. His words aren't laced with any sort of sentiment tonight. The last time they were together, he told her she was beautiful about a million times. She doesn't hear that word now- she hears "fucking hot" and "shit… _banging!" _but it's difficult to actually make any sense of it. She just lets herself get caught up in it and doesn't think about anything except how _good _he is at all this.

But when his tongue moves even lower, she snaps herself out of it.

"Noah, stop," she says breathlessly.

"You'll like it, baby," he swears, and she hears him snicker a little bit. "I promise. Just relax." His palm slides up her abdomen slowly and pointedly, and she almost lets herself just follow his advice.

But then she shakes her head quickly and squirms until she can sit up a little. "Seriously, stop," she says, and her voice shakes. He moves off of her and lets her sit all the way up. She can tell by the look on his face that he's not too happy with her.

"What the fuck?" He's definitely annoyed, and he doesn't try to hide it.

She is suddenly very aware of the whole situation, and to say she's uncomfortable would be a huge understatement. She knows she's nearly naked and that her hair is probably a mess and that her lips are most likely swollen and her make up smeared… She knows what she must look like, and it doesn't do much to make her feel better.

"I don't know what I'm doing right now," she admits quietly.

He literally groans out loud and bangs his forehead against the steering wheel.

"Noah-"

"Then what the fuck are you _doing _here?"

He practically screams it at her and looks at her like she's totally lost her mind. Most likely, she _has. _After all, look at exactly where she is and what she's doing…

"I don't know," she answers, and her eyes temporarily drop to her lap.

"You don't _know?" _His voice is loud and angry. "I am so fucking sick of this shit!"

"Stop yelling at me," she says, looking back up helplessly. "I'm just trying to _talk _to you."

"I don't want to fucking _talk _to you, Rachel!"

She closes her eyes for a second and shakes her head, telling herself to stay strong and do something smart for once. "Do you even like me, Noah?"

She sees him glare at her when she opens her eyes, and a second later, he's grabbing her hand and placing it right between his thighs. "What the hell does it _feel _like?" he asks lecherously, knowing perfectly well that she can feel just exactly how hard he is. She jerks her hand back quickly.

"Stop it," she mumbles. Then she looks at him. "Do you _like _me?"

He's still glaring at her, and he lets out another groan. "What the fuck do you think this _is, _Rachel? You said you wanted to hook up, don't ask me about if I fucking _like _you or some shit. That's bullshit."

"You were so nice to me last time…" she says quietly. "Now you're just being a jerk."

"_You _fucking started this shit! Stop trying to make it out like I'm some sort of evil bastard just because I'm sick of playing this fucking game with you. You don't get to make fucking judgment calls on _me _when you're the one who got us all into this!"

"_You're _the one who keeps coming back," she snaps sharply, staring straight at him challengingly. She's not going to just sit back and let him be an asshole to her just because she stopped him from taking her panties off.

There's silence for just a few seconds until he rolls his eyes and gives her some sort of pitying look. "Well, you're pretty damn easy, and I'm kind of lazy," he says hatefully. "So what the hell do you expect?"

That's it. Rachel doesn't even acknowledge his statement. She just leans forward, picks up her dress, and pulls it over her head. "Take me home," she says dully. "Please."

Apparently, though, Puck isn't ready to just leave it at that. "You should just go back to Finn," he says snidely. "Then you can talk to him about his goddamn feelings all fucking day and you guys can like cry together and then sing some bullshit show tunes. You really fucking deserve each other, you know that? You're just alike- a cunt and a pussy, two words for the same damn thing."

She knows she should have an urge to smack him or something, but she doesn't. She doesn't even feel like it would be worth the effort of lifting her hand. No one's ever called her that before, at least not to her face. She feels like it would hurt regardless, but coming from him seems to add an extra sting. She isn't sure why that is, but she's not going to cry in front of him. She's not going to tell him off for calling her what is possibly the most offensive word she's aware of. She's not even going to react. She just sits there with her arms crossed and looks straight ahead.

"Fuck this," he finally says. "I'm over this bullshit. Go do whatever the fuck you want to do, but leave me the hell out of it from now on because I'm pretty fucking sick of the fucking Rachel Berry Show, okay?"

Rachel doesn't say anything. She doesn't even look at him. He forces the ignition on and slams his foot onto the gas before she even has time to put her seatbelt on. They sit in complete silence the whole way back to her house, and the way he's driving makes her fear for her life. Still, she says nothing. There's no point.

It's absolutely not even worth that much concern.

They arrive at her house, and she grabs her sweater and gets out of his truck without a word. He's backing down her driveway before she's even got the door fully shut. Whatever. She's not going to let herself care. He's not worth it. None of this crap is worth it. She just wants to take a shower, go to bed, and pretend like she's _not _going to have a hickey on both her neck and on the side of her stomach.

She forces a smile to her dads when she passes by them on the way to the stairs. She knows she probably looks like a nightmare and that it's probably not difficult for them to deduce what's been going on. Still, she's glad when they don't ask where she's been. She goes up to her room, shuts the door, and finally looks at herself in the mirror. Lately, she's seen a different person every single time she's glanced at her reflection. She doesn't really recognize this one, either.

She takes a ridiculously long shower, trying to wash away all the horrible things she's done lately. She wants all traces of them gone, so she scrubs at herself, trying to scrub boys and memories and lies and lust all from her body. It's not very successful. She cries while she's in there, telling herself that it doesn't technically count since her face is already wet. It's a logic that she understands in her own head and doesn't need everyone else to share. It doesn't matter anyway. She isn't even sure why she's crying. She tries to blame most of it on stress, but Rachel's pretty sure that a bigger part of it is guilt. She hates this feeling.

She doesn't know why she's doing this. She doesn't know why she keeps going back and forth without ever arriving at either place. It's ridiculous, and she just wants to go back to when things were simple and they were all just friends in high school who liked to hang out sometimes. She's ruined a _real _friendship over her own need for results. She's the reason why these guys hate each other, and she's the reason why they've both lost their best friend. It's bad enough that she's got no friends, but now she's turned two best friends since second grade to hate each other. Any sort of chance of reconciliation is pretty much closed now. And it's all her fault. She doesn't know how to fix it.

She gets out of the shower and walks back into her bedroom to find some clothes. The bruise on her neck is already starting to show up. Somehow, though, it makes her feel like the skank that she really is, so it doesn't bother her too much. After she gets her pajamas out, she notices that the voicemail button on her phone is flashing, and she sees who the missed call is from. Her face tightens, imagining the horrible things he's probably said to her on the message. She doesn't even want to listen to it.

Still, though, as is the case with most things she doesn't want to do, she puts the phone to her ear and listens.

"_Rachel… Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things, and I never should have called you that. I just got really angry, and it's not fair for me to take that shit out on you. I'm sorry, okay? Please just call me back so we can talk. I promise not to be an asshole, I just want to talk to you." _His voice sounds sincere and maybe even a little bit hurt. She doesn't know whether to fall for it or not. He sounds so honest, but not thirty minutes before that, he was calling her the C-word and yelling at her. She doesn't find that to be very honest. _"And Rachel, I _do _like you..."_

She drops the phone to her bed and follows suit with her head. Maybe a good night's sleep will bring some sense into her. She doesn't know what to think. Much less what to _do. _Part of her hates him for having so much control over her and her emotions.

"_And Rachel, I _do _like you…" _replays in her head over and over and over as she lies down and tries to block it all out. She didn't really need to know if he liked her. His disrespect and hatefulness are enough to define him.

Now she doesn't know _what _to think.

One sentence floats through her head for a full two hours as she lies in bed and stares at her ceiling. She feels like it's all over. Then in other ways, she feels like it's just beginning. It's confusing and hard to deal with, and it bothers her.

Still, even with all of that… He _does _like her.

She's Totally Fucked. Plain and simple. _Spring Awakening_ drowns the sentence from her head, and she finally falls asleep to the music of her iPod.

She dreams of absolutely nothing.

… … …

A/N: Oh, what a wonderful mess she's created! Thanks for reading, hope you liked it!


	15. Chapter 15

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

She meets him for breakfast because she doesn't think she can have this conversation over the phone. She's surprised that he's even awake at 10 on a Saturday morning, much less willing to come out and meet her for breakfast. But that's where he is, sitting across from her as she sips coffee and he picks at a stack of pancakes.

Neither of them have much to say at first because it's weird. They both remember the events from last night clearly, and the fight in his truck hangs over them like a black cloud. It's not the first fight they've ever had, but she thinks it's probably the worst- mainly because she's never really seen him that angry. Not at her anyway.

Something is off about him, and she can tell because he isn't shoveling food into his mouth like a starving child. He's had his food for a good twenty minutes already, and half of his plate is still full. He can normally clean a plate in under five. She'd think it was disgusting, but every other boy his age that she knows eats in exactly the same manner. It's gross, but she figures it's pretty normal.

"Are you okay?" she asks timidly. He looks up at her and raises an eyebrow in question. "You don't seem very hungry."

"I'm not."

"Are you sick?"

"No."

She's not going to get anymore of out of him, and she knows it. There's no point in even keeping up the questions because she's never going to get more than one or two word answers in return. She wonders if he regrets apologizing to her. The words from his voicemail seem to be battling with the words from inside his truck. She hears all the awful things over and over, but then she hears how serious he sounded when he was telling her how sorry he was. She wants to believe it was genuine, but she doesn't know what to think anymore.

When she sees that he's not going to say anything else, she gets sick of the tension and figures that if she opens her mouth again, it can only go one way or the other. He's obviously not _that _mad because he did agree to meet her. He took her call on the third ring and even offered to pick him up. She declined and said she'd just meet him there, mostly because she did not know at that point how this meeting would go and the last thing she wanted was to be stuck riding home with him if he they ended up worse than before.

So here they sit, tucked together in a little booth. She nurses a cup of coffee, knowing fully well that it's not the best thing for her voice. Still, it keeps her alive, so she doesn't mind all that much. He takes a bite of pancake, scrapes his fork across his plate for a few seconds, and then sips his water. It's like being stuck in the middle of a very boring old movie. And it's driving her insane. So she throws caution to the wind and just gives in.

"Noah," she says quietly, and she keeps her eyes fixed on his plate, though she can feel his own on her. "I'm sorry… about last night. I know that was probably frustrating, and I shouldn't have let it go that far unless I was sure of what I wanted."

She figures that if he can apologize, so can she. She thinks he overreacted quite harshly, but she's also willing to accept the fact that part of it was her fault. She _did _give him false ideas about what was going to happen, and even if she originally believed them herself, that doesn't mean he was totally in the wrong for being frustrated with her.

"I didn't mean to say all that shit." He's talking barely above a whisper, and she has to strain her ears to even hear him over the other restaurant noise. "Especially the last part…"

The last part, of course, being the part where he called her the most offensive word she knows. She keeps hearing it over and over, but there's a part of her who can't even mad about it. She isn't sure why that is. "It's okay."

"No, it's not." She looks up because his voice rises just slightly. It's still quiet compared to the noise around them, but she doesn't have to strain quite as badly to hear him. He's put his fork down, and he's staring at her. He looks tired and possibly like he hasn't showered yet. He doesn't say anything for a second, and then he frowns a little. "My mom wouldn't like it if she knew about that."

Rachel thinks his mom probably wouldn't like it if she knew _half _the things he does on a regular basis. Still, she thinks he's probably talking about a lot more than just her disapproving of his recreational activities. He looks strangely serious, and she just looks back at him, waiting on him to either further explain or just topics.

"I wasn't raised like that," he finally says, and the look on his face is one she hasn't seen before. "You know, to be disrespectful like that. To females. My mom… That shit would bother her. And that's not… who I want to be."

He's mumbling by the end and his eyes have wandered back to the table, but something inside of her feels oddly sympathetic towards him. He sounds really honest, which is something that doesn't happen too terribly often. And there's something about him being so concerned about his mother's opinion that makes her think he might really be who she wants him to be- the nice person she's witnessed briefly in recent weeks. If nothing else, it certainly makes her think he's sweet enough for caring about what his mom thinks. She thinks there may be more to it as well, but she doesn't ask him.

It also, of course, makes her feel absolutely terrible.

"I'm really sorry I did all this," she says suddenly, and he looks back up. He looks sort of sad, and she hates it. "You're right, Noah, I got us all into this, and… And I don't know what to do now."

"It's not your fault." It seems like an automatic response, but she knows better. He has, in fact, _told _her it's her fault on more than one occasion. She knows that it is, and she's disgusted with herself.

"I hurt you," she says seriously. "And I hurt Finn. And I…" She sighs a little bit. "I didn't mean for it to turn out like this."

"It's not that big of a deal, Rachel."

"Yes, it is. I don't even know myself anymore. I'm hurting people and doing things I never wanted to do, and I'm lying to my parents all the time… I _never _lie to my parents. I don't even know what happened, it's like I'm a brand new person. And I don't like it."

As the words fall out of her mouth, she realizes that she's been keeping them bottled up for too long. There is a small part of her who thinks that showing any sort of vulnerability to Noah Puckerman is a bad idea. They will either end up arguing, or she will end up without half her clothes in his bedroom. Those seem to be the only way things go with them. Still, there is another part of him who trusts him even though she doesn't think she should.

"I think it just all got too fucked up," he says quietly, and his voice sounds somber and serious.

"I don't even know what we're doing."

"Me, either…"

She looks away for a few seconds and tries to gather her thoughts. She doesn't want to start crying. If anything, she wants to actually have something be accomplished by all of this. She's cried too much, and it's gotten her exactly nowhere.

"Finn doesn't hate me anymore," she says softly, knowing that this is the perfect way to get him to shut down completely so she has to be careful. He bristles at her words, and she moves on quickly so that he doesn't tune her out. "That's important to me. I didn't mean for him to get hurt. I'm glad that he's forgiven me."

"So are you guys back together now?" The tone of his voice is rough but not exactly harmful.

She shakes her head. "No. I'm glad he doesn't hate me, but I don't want anything else out of him."

She _hopes _that he can understand what she's trying to say without her having to come right out and say it. It's never been about Puck versus Finn to her. She's never been so conflicted about not being able to choose because she's known this whole time that she and Finn work better as friends than they do as anything else. She loves him, but she's not sure if she's ever been _in love _with him. He's her friend, and she needs him in her life. But she knows what they say is true- if you want something too badly, you'll always end up being disappointed (which doesn't bode well for her, since she wants nearly _everything _too badly). But if there's one thing in her life she's ever wanted so badly it physically hurt, it's Finn Hudson. She appreciates everything he's done for her and means to her, but she realizes that whatever 'spark' they had between them isn't the right type of 'spark.' She knows that now, and, in some twisted way, she's glad that everything came out because now at least she no longer has to lie to him. There is a part of her that misses having a boyfriend, but she realizes now that she doesn't exactly miss having _Finn _as a boyfriend.

"Does he know that?"

Rachel's caught off-guard by the question, and she looks at him, wondering about the answer herself. She doesn't think she's done anything to lead him on, and she's pretty sure that she's been forthcoming about her feelings, but Finn's never been the smartest person in the world.

"I told him I Just wanted to be friends," she says quietly. "He's a good person to have as a friend." She doesn't miss the look that flits across Puck's face, and she feels _terrible. _"I'm really sorry I messed things up for you guys," she says honestly. "I wish that never happened."

She doesn't promise him that things will be okay or that Finn will forgive and forget after a little while because she doesn't know if any of that's true. This isn't the first time those two have found themselves in this situation, and she isn't sure that a three strikes rule applies here. She thinks the fact that they ever _got _to a second strike speaks volumes, so she won't delude herself and think that maybe their friendship can be repaired. She feels worse about that than she does anything else. And she feels bad about a _lot _of things.

"I like you, Rachel."

She's surprised by the sudden comment, and she watches his face as he looks at her seriously. He said it last night on the voicemail, but hearing it face to face feels totally different. In fact, it even scares her a little bit. She doesn't say anything at all, and a few seconds later, he keeps going.

"I know that I'm a jackass," he goes on carefully. "And I don't know why I do that shit. I don't mean to, it's just like it fucking happens and I can't help it. But I mean, I don't know what's going on here, and it's like it's fucking with my head or something. I don't know what to do about it."

She's not stupid. She knows that him actually _saying _these things is huge. He doesn't talk about emotions, and she knows he's certainly more a show than tell sort of person. She doesn't know whether to be terrified or touched that he's actually opening up and telling her these things. Part of her just feels awful because she knows that the reason he feels like he's being head-fucked is because he _is. _She isn't positive about what she wants, and she keeps leading him into thinking things that maybe aren't exactly what she really wants.

"Maybe we could just be friends for a little while," she says carefully, unsure if she's overstepping here or if she's going to freak him out. Both are very real possibilities, so she chooses her wording carefully. "Just so we can try to work things out. Because I don't know what's going on, either…"

He looks at her, and she feels uncomfortable. She thinks he's probably about to start shouting, and she prepares herself for it. She probably deserves it anyway. She's surprised, though, when his face just changes a little bit and he nods.

"Yeah." That's all he says.

She swallows, suddenly very aware of the fact that he's staring right into her eyes. She tries to look away for her own sanity, but it's pointless.

"This has been a really hard year for me," she says quietly. "I know it has been for you, too."

Jesse and Shelby and Beth… Finn and Quinn and everything in between. A lot of stuff has happened to them, and she's surprised at how much of it intertwines. So much of their drama is connected, and she actually finds a little bit of comfort in that.

"I think we should just stop fighting." She doesn't want to scare him, and she's glad when he doesn't appear totally off-put. "I want us to be friends."

He nods again. There's silence for a little while, and they stare at each other. It's not entirely weird or uncomfortable, and she's glad for that. She tries to smile at him, but it comes off a little bit strained. Finally, he breaks the eye contact, takes a drink from his water glass and asks if she wants to come over and hang out.

"I think Bekah's got a friend coming over later. You can help me not murder them."

She smiles more naturally then. "I would, but I have to go to glee rehearsal. Sectionals are next week, and it's kind of a mess. So Mr. Schue called Saturday practice." She shrugs one shoulder, showing that she's not too concerned with glee at the moment.

"Can I come?"

She's shocked by his question, and she stares at him. "You want to come back to glee?"

He shrugs. "I mean, it's not like I've got anything better to do. And they need someone, right?"

She nods.

"So I already know all the shit. I mean, it's not like I'm thrilled at having to associate with most of those fuckers again, but if you can, I can, right?"

She smiles again and nods. "We can ignore them together."

"Cool." He smirks, and she feels something inside of her tighten. She knows that it's going to take every ounce of self-control that she possesses to resist that on a regular basis. Right now, though, she's just thrilled that he's coming back. She doesn't know why it means so much to her, but she doesn't even dread that afternoon's rehearsal anymore.

They show up for practice together. He follows her back to her house, and they drop off her dad's car. Then she rides with him back to the school. They spend the whole time talking about nothing of real importance, and she finds that it's incredibly easy to just be herself with him. He makes fun of her sometimes, but he doesn't ask her to change anything, which really means something to her.

The parking lot at school is nearly empty, save a few cars of their teammates. Rachel glances at the clock and sees that they're nearly late, so she figures they're probably the last people there. In a way, she hopes that they are. The less time they have to 'socialize' with the rest of the group, the better. She has a feeling they're about to walk straight into a pit of drama, and she isn't looking forward to it.

She's right. They go in through the back entrance and make their way to the choir room. The hallways are totally deserted, of course, which is unnerving. They can hear normal chattering as they get closer to the classroom, though, but when they enter, it all stops. They are, as Rachel expected, the last people to arrive, and every single one of their teammates stops whatever they're doing and turns to stare at them. Rachel feels uncomfortable, but Puck just walks in like he never left and takes a seat at the end of the second row. Rachel doesn't know what to do, so she follows him and sits down beside him.

Mr. Schuester comes straight over to them. "Are you coming back, too?" he asks Puck, and he gets a half-nod/shrug in return. Mr. Schue can't hide his relief, and he lets out an audible breath. "Guys, we've got our team back!" he says excitedly, turning back to the rest of the group.

None of them seem quite as enthusiastic.

Rachel is sure that Mr. Schuester knows this and is simply choosing to ignore it. She has a feeling that he's willing to do whatever he has to in order to win at Sectionals (and if that includes ignoring the fact that the majority of his team is seriously pissed off, so be it).

"Oh, I'm glad this has turned into Traitors-R-Us," Mercedes says rudely. "Why is everyone allowed to just run off and then come back like nothing happened? That's crap, Mr. Schue."

"Mercedes, we need to put the past behind us and focus on the competition," he says slowly but sternly. He's using that annoying condescending tone, but Rachel's so shocked that it's directed at someone other than herself that it almost doesn't bother her.

"I just think it's stupid how you expect us not to hold some sort of grudge. They a_bandoned _us."

"Well, we weren't exactly being good teammates, were we? These guys are going to hel pus win." Mr. Schue raises an eyebrow that's clear indication that the topic needs to be dropped, but Mercedes seems to be on a roll.

"Well, since we're letting all the backstabbers back in just so we can win, why don't we just call Jesse St. James up? He sure the hell can help us win. It doesn't matter that he totally sold us out and humiliated us, does it?"

Rachel rolls her eyes and sighs loudly. "Jesse is in Los Angeles," she says pointedly. "Not to mention, of course, that he's no longer in high school. Now are we done with this? Can we get on with the practice? Some of us have places to be."

She glances at Puck, and they share a secret smile. She's amazed at how much easier it is to be a bitch when he's around, and she secretly enjoys it. She was serious when she said she wasn't going to fake any sort of camaraderie with the team, and she doesn't intend to start. They are awful to her, and she has every intention of giving it back equally.

Mr. Schuester calls them all into the auditorium so that they can practice their choreography and work the two new additions back into the numbers. Rachel does a good job of ignoring the hateful looks that she receives from the vast majority of the group. She also does a good job of ignoring the fact that Finn keeps looking at her like maybe she killed his puppy or something. When he takes her hand during the second song of their set, she doesn't miss the way he squeezes too tightly and yanks her to him a little too roughly.

Their set list is okay. They still have a ton of work to do, but given their competition, Rachel doesn't think that they're in any sort of danger of actually _losing _at Sectionals. Now, they'll r_eally _have to work for Regionals, but she thinks they should be okay for next week as long as they stay focused and work out the miniscule kinks that seem to be tripping them up.

An hour into rehearsal, Mr. Schue calls for a break. Rachel's initial reaction is to grab Puck and go down to the drink machine to get some waters. She nixes that idea, though, when she seems him talking to Santana. She can't hear what's being said, but Santana does not appear amused by whatever it is. Her hands are on her hips, and her head is tilted just slightly to accent the way her lips are pursed and annoyed. Rachel gets distracted anyway, though, when she hears Finn's voice behind her.

"I thought you said you guys weren't even talking."

She sighs a little and turns around. She's prepared for this, and she really doesn't want to be rude to him. Still, it's really none of his business. "That was before," she say simply.

"That was two _days _ago, Rachel," he corrects. He isn't shouting or anything, but his tone gives away the fact that he's less than thrilled.

"Finn, _you _asked me to get him back here."

He doesn't say anything to that because it's the truth. She knows he probably wasn't thinking the whole thing through when he made that suggestion, of course, but that doesn't change anything.

"Are you guys together now?"

"No," she says lifelessly. "We're not. I'm not with anyone."

She looks at him and watches as he looks a little defeated. "You shouldn't trust him, Rachel."

"Finn…" She closes her eyes for just a second. "Noah and I are friends. _You _and I are friends. I'm sorry about what happened, but you should be mad at me, not him. It was _my _fault."

"I want to punch him every single time I see him."

"Please don't." She responds because Finn looks halfway serious as he glares past her in the direction where Puck and Santana are located. "Let's just focus on Sectionals and put the rest of the stuff to the side for right now."

"He's going to hurt you."

Rachel looks down at the floor for a few seconds and then back up. "Finn, please just be my friend," she says quietly. "I need you, okay? No one else wants to see me back here, but you're the only one I care about anyway. Just please leave it alone."

He doesn't get a chance to reply. She sees his face instantly darken, and she knows why a second later. A hand grabs hers from behind, and she hears a familiar voice. "C'mon, Rach, let's go for a walk."

Rachel knows what he's doing, and while part of her is actually strangely flattered, another part of her feels bad because she sees the way Finn looks. She hates that they're acting like this, and she knows that very little of it actually has to do with _her. _She's getting used as a prop so that they can take out their frustrations on each other. She knows she should be upset by this, but so much of it is her own fault that she can't even manage it. She looks once more at Finn and gives him the most pleading look she can manage, and then she lets Puck lead her out of the auditorium.

"We only have five more minutes," she says once they're out in the hall. "I need something to drink."

They walk toward the cafeteria, and she notices that he doesn't remove his hand from her own. She likes this more than she willing to admit.

"I really fucking hate this club," he tells her seriously. "Bunch of assholes."

"I'm glad you're back," she says honestly. "It makes things easier."

"Finn wants to kill me."

They stop in front of the drink machines, and she pulls out a couple of dollars and buys them both water. "He's just angry. I don't think he's going to do anything else."

"Mom's got to go to work at five." He changes the subject quickly. "Wanna babysit?"

She smiles at him. "Sure."

"Awesome." He smirks at her. "Because there's a party I really want to go to, and Mom'll kill me if I leave Bek and the other brat alone."

She smacks his chest, and he smiles and grabs her hand again. They joke more on the way back to the auditorium, and she doesn't even care that everyone is staring at them (with a good amount of _glaring _mixed in) when they return. It doesn't bother her. She finds that she really doesn't care what anyone else thinks, and it's extremely liberating.

After practice, she sees Finn watching her as she crosses the parking lot with his ex-best friend and climbs into his truck. Part of her does feel bad about that. She wishes she could just do this without hurting anyone, but she knows that's impossible. There's too much involved now, and there's no point in trying to pretend like there's any real hope in things just going back to normal so they can all live happily ever after. She never wanted it to be about choosing one or the other, but she realizes that that's exactly what it's turned into, and there really isn't any way that it won't eventually come down to that.

Truthfully, she doesn't _want _to choose. She doesn't want one if it means she can't have the other. She's selfish, and there is a part of her that wants both of them- just in different ways. She knows that may not be possible, though. She doesn't want Finn to hate her, but if she lets something else happen, she isn't sure that he'll want to be her friend, either. They're already on dangerous territory, and she thinks that if something _does _happen with Puck that Finn won't be able to just accept it. She has to be careful. She doesn't want either of them getting hurt anymore than they already are.

"You sounded really good today," Puck's voice breaks into her thoughts as they drive back to his house. "I mean, you know… You always sound good, but today especially."

She bites her lower lip and smiles into her lap. She knows it's the closest to a compliment that he can get, and she loves it. Singing compliments are definitely the best way to win her over, and she isn't naive enough to believe that he doesn't know this and isn't using it to his advantage. Still, that doesn't bother her too much.

"You sounded really good, too," she tells him. "They wouldn't even have a chance without us."

"Without _you."_

"And you," she says. He turns and looks at her for a second, and she smile shyly. She remembers now why it's so hard to resist him when he's being nice. She knows she needs to be sane and that she isn't one-hundred percent sure she can really trust him. It's hard to remember that, though, when he's smiling at her like that. "Watch the road," she says quietly. "If we die, they'll lose for sure…"

She's really glad that they're not fighting anymore. She's a little concerned at how easy it is to forgive him, but she figures that if he can forgive her, she can forgive him. They can just move on and try to make things better. She really wants him to be something. She's not entirely sure _what _she wants him to be yet, but she knows that she needs him. She wants him in her life. She's never felt this relaxed with anyone ever, not even with Finn. It frightens her a little bit, but it also excites her.

They enter his house to find his sister and her friend watching TV. His mom's in the kitchen, and they go in to tell her hello and let her know that they're home. She's on the phone working on bills, but she smiles at them and waves them toward a plate of what appears to be freshly-baked cookies. Puck grabs about six and offers her _one, _which she politely declines because she's sure it doesn't fit into her diet. Still, she grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and doesn't even feel out of place while doing so. She actually feels very at home here.

They go back into the living room, and Bekah jumps up to grab a cookie from her brother. He aims a kick at her shin as he does so, and then he falls onto the couch and changes the channel.

Bekah grabs Rachel's hand and pulls her down to the floor where she and her friend are playing cards. "Amy," she says loudly, "This is Noah's girlfriend, Rachel."

Rachel waits for Puck to correct his sister, but he doesn't. Maybe he hasn't heard because he's so involved in the ten seconds of television he's been watching. Rachel doesn't correct her, either, because she's too caught up in the way that one sentence floats through her head.

_Noah's girlfriend _certainly isn't the worst thing she's ever been called… And she thinks she might be able to get used to it. Eventually. In the future.

It sounds nice, and it makes her feel something. She isn't sure _what _it makes her feel, but something good. If they get to that part, she's pretty sure she could learn to like the way those words sound together.

Right now, though, they need to just be friends.

She wonders how long _that _will last…

… … …

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews and for keeping up with this story! It's lots of fun to write, so I'm glad people seem to be enjoying it!


	16. Chapter 16

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

The entire week is spent preparing for Sectionals.

Rachel honestly doesn't mind. Truthfully, she _likes _glee. It's not that she likes the people or the director particularly- she also doesn't care for a good portion of the song catalogue. But she _does _like singing, and she _loves _performing. Especially when she's the center of attention. And in glee club, she is _definitely _the star.

She notices that Mr. Schuester has, in Puck-speak, started kissing her ass. It's funny, and she'd be amused if she didn't despise him so much. She doesn't care that he's being so nice to her now. She knows already that he's a jerk, and he's burned that bridge on multiple occasions, what with trying to ruin her life and sabotage her career and everything. It's disgusting, and she doesn't for one second buy his sudden niceness. She's not an idiot. She knows perfectly well that he's only being nice to her because he is scared that she'll get so annoyed that she'll up and leave again. After all, New Directions doesn't have a shot without her, and she _did _do a pretty decent job of holding a grudge and staying away for awhile.

It's liberating, though, to be in glee and really not give a damn about anyone else. She's glad that she's finally realized that none of these people are her true friends and that she's at a point where she no longer cares anything at all about their opinions of her. It makes being around them much easier. She relishes the fact that she doesn't even have to _attempt _to hold her tongue anymore. In fact, sometimes she says things just to be saying them now. Just because she can. And she loves it.

On Saturday morning, she finds herself on the bus with the rest of the club as they take the forty-five minute ride to the concert hall where the competition will be held. She's sitting with Puck, of course, since he is the only member of the club who is actually speaking to her without being forced. Finn has decidedly ignored them both for the past week, and while Rachel has tried to reach out and talk to him on several occasions, he always suddenly has something pressing that he needs to attend to- like tying his shoes or discussing football plays with Mike and Matt. It's annoying and childish, and Rachel is quickly tiring of the entire thing. Still, she isn't going to be rude to him- she does still want him as a friend, and if he needs time for processing that, then she'll let him have it.

She just wishes he didn't have to be such a six year old in the meantime.

Currently, Finn is sitting with Tina and laughing about something with Artie, who is securely strapped into the aisle across from them. Rachel can't tell what the joke is, but she's sure it's not nearly as funny as the three of them seem to think it is. Mercedes, Quinn, and Kurt have staked out the front seat and have their heads ducked together while they whisper in hushed voices. Rachel imagines that they're saying something incredibly petty and ridiculous, and she doesn't care to find out. Meanwhile, Brittany, Santana, Matt, and Mike are spread out over two seats and are deep in their own conversation.

"They look like the freaking United Colors of Benetton or some shit." Puck's voice breaks into her thoughts, and she's surprised that he can seemingly read her mind.

She smiles and shakes her head. "Stop it."

"You're just shocked I know what the hell Benetton is."

"Little bit, yeah." She smiles at him, and he smirks.

"Full of surprises."

"Right."

"I got an 87 on my algebra test."

"Wow!" She laughs a little. "Now _there's _a surprise."

"Told you."

"See what happens when you go to class?"

He rolls his eyes and slinks further down into his seat. He's got his knees pressed against the back of the empty seat in front of them. "Math's for idiots who don't know how to use the calculator on their phone."

"And English is for people who don't utilize the spell check on texts?"

"Damn straight."

Rachel rolls her eyes, but she laughs some, too. He is amusing if nothing else. She enjoys the fact he is such a slacker a little bit more than she probably should, considering the fact that every inch of her life has been paved with ambition and pre-planning for as long as she can remember. He's such a nice change from all that, though. It's refreshing.

They spend the whole bus ride talking about a bunch of nothing and laughing together in the backseat. No one really pays them much attention, which isn't surprising since everyone's all caught up in their own individual conversations.

They're doing good with the friends thing so far- as best as can be expected anyway, given the fact that they seem to have difficulty with boundaries and that sort of thing. They aren't very good at _not _making out when they're alone, though that's certainly not a new development. In order to counteract it, they just avoid being alone as much as possible. They hang out mostly at school and at glee. She's been to his house a few times over the week, but they stay downstairs with his sister and, sometimes, his mom. So far, no kissing. Which is a good thing.

Rachel guesses…

They flirt, though, even worse than before. She doesn't know if he's doing it on purpose, or if it's just completely second nature to him. Either way, she doesn't hate it. She finds it incredibly easy to flirt back as well, which should probably worry her but doesn't. It's just normal. They tease each other and joke quietly. Sometimes he grabs her hand and holds it, and she doesn't even know why. One night during a marathon of _Jersey Shore, _they were sitting on the floor in his living room sharing a basket of breadsticks with Bekah, and he spent literally ten minutes _smelling _her hair until he finally came out and asked if she actually put real lemon juice in it.

It's just things like that that make things so much harder than they need to be. Like really, _really _hard.

Walking into the holding/dressing room in the concert hall has a hint of déjà vu to it. The entire team is gathered in there, and there's obvious tension at being in such close quarters. A year ago when they were here, they were fresh off the news of Babygate (seriously? Rachel wants to _kill _whoever came up with that term), and the whole team was subdued and uneasy. Finn and Puck hated each other, and one girl was miserable in the middle. It's pretty much just like that this year, too, except the girl isn't all that miserable.

Rachel's not _happy, _of course, but she's over being depressed about the situation. It's getting her nowhere, and all it's doing is making her feel worse and worse by the day. So she's past the point of being overly-concerned with other people's feelings when her own are so dangerous right now anyway. She has accepted the fact that there is no win/win in this situation. _Someone _is going to be hurt one way or the other. It's just going to happen. All she can do is deal with it.

Puck needs her more than Finn does. If she's being totally honest with herself, _she _needs _him _more, too. Finn is fine with the rest of the team. Everyone loves him. She and Puck, on the other hand, aren't quite as adored. There's sort of a 'them against the world' sense to it, and honestly, she doesn't hate it. He's not a bad person to have as a partner in a situation like that. She thinks maybe she could get used to it.

"Are we even going to watch the other groups?" Tina stifles a yawn as she falls onto one of the holding room's sofas beside Mike.

"What's the point?" Mercedes has her arms crossed and shrugs one shoulder. "Personally, I don't have any desire to watch the booty-shaking of Jane Adams."

"Speak for yourself."

Everyone laughs at Artie's attempt at a joke, but Rachel finds it less than humorous. After all, they are here for a _purpose, _and since Mr. Schuester is clearly more interested in staking out the competition than in helping his own team, she takes it upon herself to start making the calls.

"We need to warm up."

Her suggestion is met with several disinterested looks and a few eye rolls. Mercedes doesn't even attempt to hide her disdain. "We don't go on for another two _hours, _and anyway, nobody asked for your opinion."

"True," Rachel says without missing a beat. "No one asked for my opinion, but that certainly won't stop me giving it. Another opinion, and really this is more _fact, _is that your lack of proper vocal stretching is what causes you to go slightly flat at the end of every run you do."

She flashes a bright show smile at the end to show that there are no hard feelings (of course). She can't explain how amazing it feels to just say whatever she wants to say whenever she wants to say. It's amazing.

There is silence in the room for a few seconds when she finishes her spiel, and she waits patiently for the backlash. No one seems to know what to say at first, but Mercedes gets back her ability to be offended rather quickly.

"Oh, no, bitch, you did _not_ just call me flat." She puts her hands on her hips and stands up a little bit taller, stretching her neck as she speaks. Rachel just continues to smile.

"Not all the time," she says breezily. "Just at the end of runs. You could easily remedy that by performing an adequate set of vocal exercises before you move to that range. I can help you if you'd like."

Mercedes looks at her like maybe she wants to kill her. Rachel can't help but be amused by this, considering the fact that half the things she says now are for no other reason than to make other people mad. It's funny. It amuses her, and from the small smile she can see out of the corner of her eye, she knows it amuses Puck as well.

That's basically how the entire morning goes. Rachel makes honest suggestions to nearly everyone on how they can improve their talent and the group's overall chances of success, while they all ignore her with a mixture of glares and rude comebacks. She doesn't particularly care because it's funny regardless, and she loves the fact that she can get them so worked up. Eventually, though, she gets tired of it and goes over to laugh about it with Puck who tells her that she's "fucking crazy." They both laugh over that as well, and then they move on to talking about nearly everyone in the room. They're interrupted only when Santana comes over and literally pushes Rachel out of the way so that she can stand face to face with Puck.

"Sorry to break up the little mitzvah or whatever you losers have going on over here," she says snidely.

"You can join us, and we can make it a tres-way fiesta," Puck shoots right back, and he raises his eyebrows suggestively.

"Okay, first of all, that doesn't even make sense," Santana rolls her eyes. "And second of all? Ew."

Rachel says nothing, and just watches the exchange with something close to amazement. She just doesn't _understand. _They're ridiculous.

"I need some money," Santana says bluntly, raising her own eyebrows with purpose.

"Sorry for ya…" Puck looks at her like she's crazy.

"Cut the crap, Puckerman," she says hatefully. "I know for a fact you've got cash because I passed you when you were parked at the ATM this morning."

"And? What's that got to do with _you?"_

"Give me some." She says this as though it's the most obvious answer in the world.

"What the fuck do you need money for anyway?"

"A pregnancy test." Santana crosses her arms and rolls her neck just the tiniest bit. Rachel forgets to breathe for a second, and Puck looks like maybe he's lost a lot of blood b/c the color drains immediately from his face and he appears to be in literal shock for the full fifteen seconds that Santana stares him down. Then she snorts and rolls her eyes, "Yeah, fucking _right! _Like I would let _you _knock me up." She shakes her head and smirks. "I need some fucking nachos, asshole. Give me some money."

Rachel watches in shock as he actually takes out his wallet and then shoves a ten dollar bill at her. She takes it and walks off without even saying thank you. It's the weirdest thing _ever, _and it makes no sense.

"What?" Puck demands, obviously sensing the way she's staring uncomprehendingly at the scene in front of them.

"Why would you actually give her money?"

"To shut her the hell up. She wasn't gonna stop til she got her damn nachos. I mean, she's Mexican, shit."

Rachel ignores two things- one, that Santana is _not _Mexican as a matter of fact… and two, that he's clearly chock-full of blatant racism. Neither of those things are important at the moment. What's important is the fact that those two people have the most screwed up, dysfunctional, _nonsensical _relationship in the history of relationships.

"Why do you even _talk _to her?" Rachel shakes her head in confusion.

"Why are you so jealous of fucking _Santana?" _he shoots back.

Rachel is offended by the accusation and doesn't bother letting her face show any differently. "I'm _not. _I just don't understand why you even speak to her. You don't get along at all, and she tried to ruin both of our lives, remember?"

"Oh, you mean like you did to me and Quinn last year?" She just looks at him, and he shrugs. "I'm just saying. I still talk to you, don't I?"

"I did you a _favor," _she says pointedly, knowing he's completely correct but refusing to admit it. "Besides, that was a totally different situation."

"Whatever. Same deal. And I already told you, Santana's just a bitch. So what?"

"You sleep with her every other _day!" _Rachel hisses, her voice dropping to a lower decibel but rising in inflection. "And you just gave her money for no reason! Obviously you don't think she's _too _much of a bitch."

"I do not sleep with her every other day." He rolls his eyes. "We've hooked up like _twice_ in the past month. And anyway, obviously you _are _fucking jealous, or you wouldn't be so damn caught up on that shit!" His voice lowers, too, but mimics her style.

"I just think you two are ridiculous. That's all. It's the oddest thing I've ever seen."

"Do you want me to buy you some freaking nachos?" He looks at her in exasperation. "I've got like ten more bucks, but they probably ain't got any kind of vegan cheese or shit, so heads up."

Rachel sighs loudly. "You need to help me warm up," she says, changing the subject. "I refuse to sing without the proper exercises, and my voice needs to be top shape today, since _clearly _I'm going to have to carry this entire group of procrastinating slackers.

He shakes his head in what's obviously a start to making fun of her. She just stares him down, and he finally laughs and does as he's told.

The actual performance could go a lot worse.

Once they hit the stage, Rachel feels like they're exactly where they're supposed to be- or at least that she's where _she's _supposed to be. Truthfully, she pretty much tunes out the rest of them, focusing on them only when she needs to match pitch. This isn't the right attitude to have, of course, because it takes away from the whole teamwork thing. She doesn't care, though. She blends with them perfectly and outshines them all when it's appropriate. She smiles like her life depends on it, knowing that a good show face is an absolutely invaluable possession. To anyone watching her performance, she's just a brightly talented young performer who's absolutely thrilled to be sharing the stage with such good friends. She smiles at them and dances with them. She grabs her ex-boyfriend's hand and looks so deeply into his eyes that she could probably even convince herself. She's happy and loves all these people. At least that's what the world will think.

They sound pretty decent. Brittany is sharp on an entire verse of their second song, and Rachel stays one-hundred percent focused on her show face so that she doesn't visibly cringe. Or choke her. Other than that, though, there are no huge mishaps. Their set list is fairly good, and the audience really seems to appreciate their performance. It's no surprise when they find themselves standing on stage with the other teams and hear New Directions called as the first place winner. They're all happy, of course, and even Rachel gets swept up in the blur of hugs and happy jumping up and down and squealing. It's actually real for a few blissful moments, and the happiness they share as a team is legitimate, and everyone sort of forgets to hate each other.

By the time they make it back to their dressing room, though, things are back to usual.

The dresses and the ties come off, and the costumes are packed away into garment bags. They all change back into their normal attire, and it seems that with the jeans and hoodies come the attitude and mutual disgust. Though Rachel does find the fact that her long-ago assessment about the incestuous nature of the glee club never comes to light more than when all twelve members strip in front of each other with no one so much as batting an eye. It's like they're actually theatre kids or something, but, of course, they're not. They're not cool enough to be theatre kids- they're still just a bunch of losers and jocks and cheerleaders all mixed together in one poorly melded pot. It's simply that they're just all too used to see each other without clothes. It's almost a bit disturbing.

The large trophy that sits in the middle of the room does very little to block any of this out.

Rachel falls asleep on the short ride back to the school. She lets her head fall against the window and wakes up with it resting against Puck's shoulder. He's checking Facebook from his phone, and she isn't even sure he knows she's asleep (or was, however briefly). The whole bus is mostly quiet, though, so she assumes she's not the only person who has decided to take a nap. He turns his head and glances at her when she sits up and instead leans her head backwards against the seat.

"You could have stayed," he tells her with a simple shrug. "I would have woken you up."

Smiling, and without a word, she moves her head back to its previous position and closes her eyes again.

That night, she has dinner with her dads, and they tell her how great the performance was and how they're so glad that she decided to give glee another shot. Most of the parents don't make a habit of attending all the shows and competitions, but her dads never miss any of them. They've never missed anything she's ever done in her whole life, though. They've been at every vocal showcase, every dance recital, every beauty pageant… They are wholly supportive to her, and she loves them for it. She thinks that their support and the fact that they've always been honest with her are the real reasons why she's always been so focused on her goals. Of course, the fact that they spend thousands and thousands of dollars every year catering to her artistic needs doesn't hurt matters, either. Someday, when she gets to see her name in a Playbill, she's going to thank them and tell the world that she's the luckiest daughter in the world.

Rachel is not unaware of the fact that she is spoiled. She knows perfectly well that she has opportunities many people do not. Her parents have money, and they spend it on her. They're money, though, is just an investment in her future. She doesn't have a closet-full of designer clothes or a never-ending credit card budget. She doesn't even have a _car _(though she _did _overhear her dads looking online and suspects she may be receiving one for her seventeenth birthday next month). But still, she has a lot. And she is grateful for it. Mostly, she is grateful for having two parents who love her unconditionally and who would never turn their back on her no matter what.

When the dinner table conversation turns to her love life, she doesn't immediately clam up. Lately, she hasn't been as forthcoming as she usually is with her dads, but she's trying to get back to the honest place their relationship has always been. It's important to her, and even if it means revealing things she'd rather keep quiet, she knows that they will love her regardless.

"So, how are things going with Finn? You looked okay at the competition." It's a simple enough question, but she isn't entirely sure what the appropriate answer is. The truth, she guesses, is probably as appropriate as it gets.

"We're trying to be friends," she says, lifting one shoulder. "Or _I'm _trying. I'm still not sure he wants to be my friend."

"Is that really his place?" Her dad shakes his head in confusion. "Honey, he's the one who lied to you. You shouldn't be the one forced to offer the olive branch, you didn't do anything."

She realizes then that her parents are very far behind on the subject. This isn't, of course, their fault, as she has purposely kept many things hidden. There is a tiny part of her, though, that suspects that her parents may know more than they're letting on and that they're purposely trying to goad her into 'confessing,' so that they don't have to come right out and ask it. She decides to make it easier for them.

"I cheated on him. When I found out… I was so mad, and I made a mistake." She says it flatly, knowing there's no point in lying. She's fully come to accept the reality of the situation, but saying it out loud still leaves her ashamed. She swallows, wondering what they think of her now that they know she's a lying, cheating whore.

Her dads look at her, and she's embarrassed and feels horrible because she knows they must be disappointed in her. They didn't raise her to be a liar, which is exactly what she's turned into. There's nothing worse than disappointed silence, which is exactly what she gets for several moments.

"Noah Puckerman is not a good choice, Rachel."

She's surprised by the fact that her father says it so bluntly. She can't even think of anything to say back, so she just stares at him. She shouldn't be shocked by the fact that they have put the pieces together so easily, considering the fact that she really only talks to _one _person- it wouldn't take a genius to figure it out. Still, though, she's not happy with the fact that they're so ready to judge when they don't even know the whole story.

"It wasn't Noah's fault," she says finally, needing to defend him in some way, even though she's not sure there's any point to it. They've clearly already made up their minds.

"Maybe not," her dad says without hesitation. "But he is clearly a troubled person, and I'm not sure you need that sort of influence in your life."

Rachel's mad. She's mad that they're so willing to jump to conclusion and pass judgment when they've spent her entire life telling her to do the opposite. "You don't even know him. What do you mean _troubled?"_

"That kid has always been a troublemaker," her other father interjects. "He's been that way ever since he was a child. He's obviously been through a lot, but that excuse only stretches so far."

"He's my friend."

"Your friend? Was he also Quinn's friend when _she _was dating Finn?"

At this moment, Rachel hates the fact that she's so open with her parents and has a tendency to tell them everything about herself and everyone she knows. They shouldn't be allowed to use those things against her, but, of course, they can, and it always backfires on her.

"He made a mistake," she says firmly. "And then he did something really selfless and mature to make up for it. You can't fault him for that."

"No," her dad shakes his head. "We can't. And you're right, that was a very mature decision that they made. And a brave decision. But that doesn't change the fact that it happened in the first place. We don't want to see you end up in the same situation."

"I'm not stupid." She's partially offended by the insinuation. "I know better than to let that happen."

"We're not going to tell you what to do. You're old enough to make your own decisions, but just please make sure that you're not allowing yourself to be pressured into anything you don't feel comfortable with."

"It's not like that."

"I'm not _just _talking about sex, either," he goes right on like he doesn't even hear her. "There are plenty of bad choices you could be making, and you need to realize that the people you surround yourself with are the ones who influence those decisions."

"Daddy," she says slowly, struggling to keep herself calm, "Noah is not a bad person. He has a reputation, but people judge him without knowing him." She looks pointedly at both of them, hoping to drive home the fact that they are doing just that at this very moment. "That's not fair."

"Is he your boyfriend?"

"No. He's my friend."

They both look back at her, and she can tell that they're trying to decide whether she's lying. Finally, she gets a question she doesn't want. "Do you _want _him to be your boyfriend?"

She doesn't know the answer to that question. It's one that she thinks about often, and it always seems like she comes up with different answers. On some days, she thinks it would be perfect. On others, all she can see are the negatives.

"I like him," she admits. "But I don't know. He's the only person I have right now… I don't want to mess it up." Her voice gets quieter toward the end of the statement, and she finds her eyes wandering toward the table.

"Rachel, _please _be careful." Her dad sounds very serious but not quite as judgmental. "We just don't want you to get hurt."

"I'm careful," she says, dropping the defensive act altogether. "You don't have to worry."

Her dad's right. This is about much more than just sex. This is about protecting not only her body, but also her heart, and even her future. She knows the reputation Noah Puckerman has. She knows that a lot of the reputation is fact. Her parents aren't wrong in saying that he's 'troubled.' He's dealt with a lot of bad things in his life, and that's no secret. He channels those bad things into his own actions, too, and sometimes (often) he does things that aren't exactly exemplary. That's partially why she's so conflicted. She enjoyed her brief foray into badassness, but it's not a place that she wants to live. Puck has permanent residency… That scares her. She isn't naïve enough to think that she could change him or turn him into perfection. People don't have that sort of power. He's not going to turn suddenly sweet and start opening doors for her and give up all his bad habits. No matter what title she gives him, he's still going to be a jackass who hangs out beside the liquor store scamming older women into buying him alcohol. If he's her boyfriend or ultimately just her friend, he's still going to be a part-time pothead who lets the door slam in her face when he leaves in front of her. He's always going to use _fucking _and _goddamn _as his adjectives of choice, and if he gives her earrings for her birthday, she's always going to wonder which department store he shoplifted them from.

Strangely, she's okay with all of that.

Still, she has to be careful with what she allows herself to be involved in. She has to think of her future, not just of her now. He fits perfectly into her _now, _but is he someone who will benefit her _future? _If she gets arrested for stealing a pack of Twizzlers, will _any _college want her? If she spends all her time turning into a partier, will her vocals suffer? These are the things she has to consider. She wants him, unquestioningly. But does she _need _him?

Every other part of her screams yes, but her brain tells her to double-think it.

"I don't know what we are," she says seriously, "but I know who he is."

Rachel looks at her dads, and they look back, both nodding. They don't seem entirely convinced of pleased, but she knows that they're willing to accept her choices and that they'll make every effort to support her- no matter what decision she ultimately makes.

That one sentence, though, feels like the most honest thing she's said in ages. It's the complete truth. She _knows _him- she knows who he is and who he's not. She doesn't know what to do with all of it, but she knows every piece of it.

And maybe that's her answer.

… …. …

A/N: Yay for Friday! Glad I got some writing time in, and I hope you guys enjoy it!


	17. Chapter 17

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

Music is the single most important aspect of Rachel's existence.

Good (or bad) music can affect every facet of her being and emotions. She has a song for every moment of her life, and she constantly fantasizes a musical in her head as she moves throughout her day- casting the people around her in different roles and preparing the score in her mind. She can pinpoint any moment or event and categorize it by song. She's done this for as long as she can remember, and it comes as easily as breathing to her.

The first time she sat in a Broadway theatre, she was five years old. Her parents took her to see _Beauty and the Beast, _and she cried the whole way back to the hotel because she didn't want it to be over. She'd seen the movie a million times, but seeing it live and _hearing _it changed her life. Within a week, she could sign the entire Broadway score. She's been like that ever since. Music is _important _to her.

Music can change her mood- it can turn her from depressed to more depressed. Or from giddy to giddier. It can change her from sad to happy. It controls her emotions. She literally turns to it for _everything. _It just has _power _over her.

It's no wonder then that it also has the power to seduce her.

She's never really been someone who has a lot of celebrity crushes. There are celebrities that she admires and that she appreciates and looks up to, but she's never been the girl to fall in love with the lead singer of a band, no matter how hot he is. She'll just appreciate the music and let it speak to her- she can do without the lusting.

But music in _real _people (at least real to her)? It's no surprise that she falls for it so easily.

She noticed it first in Finn. He was the very first crush she ever took seriously, and she's not stupid enough to think that the majority of that initial crush was sprung not from his height and happy smile… but from the fact that he was singing. And singing relatively well. Singing with him immediately became her favorite hobby, and it wasn't long until she realized that she'd fallen in love. Music pushed all of that.

It happened again with Jesse. Actually, it was sort of worse with Jesse. If she thought Finn singing was attractive… Jesse was like a god among men with his voice. It was both the most beautiful and the sexiest thing in the world to her, and she's still a little shocked that she never let herself be fully seduced by it. Maybe she always knew deep down that she shouldn't fully trust him, or maybe she was just blinded by Finn. But regardless, it was Jesse's music that _really _got to her. She loved it. She misses it actually- his voice. In secret, she sometimes finds herself YouTubing old Vocal Adrenaline performances just so she can hear him. She will never, _ever _admit this.

Noah Puckerman won her over with music, too. "Sweet Caroline" pushed her into starting their whirlwind romance that spanned the length of an entire week. He's got a very good voice actually, but she's more into his guitar ability. He's very skilled, and she won't lie and say that it isn't attractive. Boys with guitars are nearly always attractive.

So clearly she should know better when she finds herself alone with him in his room while his fingers gaze lazily over quiet chords.

The unofficial rules state that they don't really need to be alone together too often period. They certainly do not need to be alone together in his bedroom. She certainly does not need to be sitting across from him on the bed with nothing but a _guitar _between them. She deserves whatever she gets right here, based on stupidity alone.

She goes to his house because he tells her he needs help studying. ACT prep. As she's wholly invested in her future, she is, of course, always eager to help him invest in his own. She even offers to bring over some of her test prep materials so that they can use them together. She can make him flashcards even. And a study schedule. Color-coded, of course.

His mom's not there, working, of course, and Bekah's at a sleepover. He conveniently left these details out when he asked for her help. She doesn't mind too much because even though they're pushing their luck, she's certain that with a little bit of self-control, they will be able to refrain from any sort of stupidity. Or maybe not certain, but she's at least willing to believe it.

They make it through exactly fourteen minutes of studying when he tells her that he's going to kill himself if they don't stop.

"I haven't even got to make your flashcards yet!" She looks at him sharply in protest.

"I swear to God, Rach, if you make fucking flashcards, I will kill _you _before I kill himself. I'm dead ass serious."

She pouts and manages a little bit of a glare, but he ignores her and instead, closes the workbook and leans over his bed for his guitar. She watches as he tightens the strings a little bit, and then she asks him what he's doing.

"I need a fucking break. I'm not used to all that study shit."

She wants to point out that less than fifteen minutes of reading over a few sample questions is hardly even studying. She doesn't, though, because he starts playing, and she finds herself being drawn in against her own will. Seriously, it's not her fault. It's like she's biologically wired to be distracted by music. She isn't sure _why _he's playing right now, but he does that a lot when he gets bored.

"You're very talented." She breaks in when he's been playing for a few minutes. She means the words. She doesn't lie about talent. This is partly the reason she finds it so difficult to mask her lack of impression during glee. It's hard for her to fake enthusiasm or appreciation for things that are bad.

Puck rolls his eyes, though. He's one of those people who can't take compliments- at least about anything that's not completely superficial like his abs or his 'guns.' He stops playing, though and shakes his head. "_You're _talented," he says. "I just play around."

She loves that he's just thrown her a compliment, but she doesn't let herself get distracted by it. "I'm more _trained," _she corrects him. "You have plenty of raw talent. That's very attractive."

He smirks, raising an eyebrow just slightly. "You totally want me right now, don't you?"

Rachel has to fight the urge to roll her eyes. "Somehow, I don't think you being attractive comes as a shock to you."

"Yeah, I'm pretty hot." He's being incredibly cocky, but she thinks (hopes) he's probably just joking. Maybe. Probably not.

She decides she should probably just ignore him because if she humors him, it's likely going to end very badly. "Have you ever thought about writing your own music?" She changes the subject and doesn't miss the way his face shifts just slightly.

"I just play around," he says again, shrugging, and she can tell he's slightly embarrassed. "I've messed around with a few things, but it's mostly just shit."

She has a very strong suspicion that he's telling her something that's a secret. He seems embarrassed, though she can't imagine why. His voice and his face, though, give away the fact that he doesn't often tell people about that particular hobby.

"Can I see?"

He stares at her, and she makes her face stay as blank as possible. He's afraid of being made fun of, and she needs him to know that she would never tease him for something like this. She knows she's being a little forward asking to see, but she's curious.

"It's stupid," he tells her again, but she's shocked when he pulls a little notebook out of his nightstand drawer and flips it open for her.

He purposely avoids her eye and goes back to strumming mindlessly on his guitar, obviously trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. She looks down at the notebook and studies it. It's not just random words jotted down- they are sketched under notes and matched with chords. It's rough and unpolished, but she can tell it's really good. She's never been able to write her own music, and she's seriously impressed.

"Can I sing this?"

She's aware that she's overstepping about fourteen different boundaries. Part of her thinks he's about to shout at her and tell her to fuck off. He doesn't. He just stops playing and stares at her.

"It's shit," he tells her flatly.

"No, it's not." She feels suddenly shy, and she doesn't know why. "It's good. I want to sing it. While you play. I want to hear it." She sucks her lips in for a second. "Please."

She's actually surprised when he starts playing a few moments later. He looks down to his guitar, pointedly avoiding her gaze. She follows the notes from the book as best that she can in its choppy state, and then she starts singing. She isn't loud. In fact, she's fairly quiet, focusing not on her voice's technique but on the way it sounds coupled with his music. The song is good, and she appreciates the way he slows down to keep up with her vocals. Eventually, they fall into a rhythm, and she feels comfortable enough to look up. He's staring at her, and she's so surprised by the look that she initially wants to look away again.

She can't, though.

It's no secret that she's easily mesmerized by his eyes. They're practically intoxicating to her. Sometimes she hates them, and sometimes she loves them. But she's always captivated by them. Right now, though, she's pretty positive that she's never seen anything more beautiful. There is something in them now that's not always there- something deep and mysterious and _hot._

She's pretty sure she's never been so turned on in her entire life.

She knows the second she holds the last note and he plays the last chord that all bets are off. There's still silence for about five seconds as they stare at each other, and then he wordlessly sets the guitar aside, and it's over.

Everything they've spent the last few weeks trying to ignore comes to the surface immediately, and Rachel isn't even sure who makes the first move. All she knows is that one second she's staring at him and the next, she's kissing him. It's not a heated, hurried kiss, but it's not a lingering, romantic kiss, either. It's somewhere in between- it's slow and deliberate but with a definite sense of urgency.

She's on her knees, which leads her to believe that it was probably her who initiated the kiss. But his hands are on her waist, so maybe he dragged her to that position. She doesn't know. Really, she doesn't care. All she cares about at that moment is the way every single part of her seems to be reacting to his kiss and his touch.

It's only been a few weeks, but she feels like it's been _years _since she last kissed him. She wants him, _really _wants him. There's nothing about him that she doesn't want at this moment. Honestly, she's surprised that she's even able to breathe. But she does. She can't really think coherently, but she knows without a doubt that this isn't something she wants to end any time soon.

"That was the sexiest thing ever." His voice is barely more than a whisper when he pulls back just a few centimeters so they can both breathe.

She can feel his breath against her chin, hot and unsteady. Her eyes fall closed, and all she can focus on is how badly she doesn't want it to end. No one's ever called her sexy before, and she isn't sure how to process it. She knows what he means, though. She felt it, too- her singing his words… It _meant _something.

He's kissing her again before she has a chance to reply. It doesn't matter anyway because she has nothing to say. Her brain is shutting off at warp speed, and all she wants to do is tell him to never stop kissing her and never stop touching her. She's very certain that they're in definite dangerous territory, but she is neither worried nor cares.

She finds herself lying on top of him, and once again, she's unaware of how they came to their current position. His hands are tangled in her hair, and she's sure it's sticking up in a million different directions. Her own hands are gripping his shoulders, and she feels slightly as though she should just get up now and walk away. She can't, though. Of course she can't. She's too far gone now to do anything other than open her mouth a little wider to give him better access.

She's aware of the position change this time, as he puts one hand behind her head and one hand to her shoulder and pushes her until she's laid out beneath him. He's careful not to crush her, but she finds herself wanting to feel the weight of his body against hers. She pulls him closer until she can feel every part of him flush up against her. She's not sure if she'll ever get used to that particular sensation, but it's still thrilling and nerve-wracking. It still makes her feel a lot more grown up than she actually is. It makes her feel more like a woman and less like a child. It makes her breathless and unable to feel anything else.

She's very used to the natural reactions that her body has to these positions, and she's not even embarrassed by the way her hips lift up automatically and press even closer into him. He's kissing her more desperately now, and she's slightly disappointed that he has no hair for her to dig her fingers into. Instead, she just pulls his head down to hers and lets him kiss her with every ounce of urgency he can muster as their hips move together in a desperate rhythm. The next thing she knows, his lips have left hers and they're now blazing a hot trail down her throat as one of his hands sneaks behind her thigh, lifting it up as he lets his fingers slide across her skin. She's not shy or timid about any of it, and she surprises even herself when her hands slide underneath his shirt and then back to the hem to lift it over his head.

"Rach," he says breathlessly, lifting his head momentarily in order to allow her to remove his shirt. "What time do you have to be home?"

"Eleven." She's shocked to hear how breathless her own voice sounds. She'd be embarrassed if she wasn't so desperate.

"What time is it now?"

Her eyes glance behind him to the clock on his dresser. "Nine."

"Thank fucking God…" he mumbles, ducking his head to once again run kisses across neck and down into the small part of exposed chest.

She doesn't know how to process this, how to make sense of something that, on the surface, should make no sense at all. She wants all of this _so _badly, but she still hasn't made up her mind about what she wants overall. These sort of things just complicate everything even further. She should know better, but she just can't make herself care.

She grabs his chin and moves his mouth back to her own, trying to memorize every part of his kiss. There's so much of it that she's missed, and if they have to go back to not kissing each other after this, she wants to be able to remember it perfectly. In the back of her head, she hears something telling her to stop and telling her that this isn't helping anything. In the forefront of her head, though, all she hears is that he's so hot and his kiss is so perfect and he can make her feel so good and his house is _so _empty… And all of that wins out.

"Rachel…" His voice is just barely audible in her ear, and she doesn't know if he's just saying her name or if he's trying to tell her something. She feels his tongue tracing the bottom of her earlobe, and she shivers a little. "Rachel?"

"Hmm?" She's a little mortified to realize that the only coherent sound she can make is not even a real word. It's hard to breathe, though, and she feels like her chest is in danger of exploding if she tries to say anything else.

"Do you want this?" One hand is back on her thigh, and she feels it sliding across her skin. He sounds breathless, too, and his head doesn't leave her ear. He's whispering to her, and it makes her feel very warm all over. "Please tell me now if you don't…" He's pleading with her slightly, and she knows why. She's pushed him too far before and then backed out. He probably thinks she's going to do the same thing again, given her insistence that they just be friends.

She puts her hands on his shoulders and pushes him so that she can sit up. He moves off of her instantly, his face stony. She looks at him sitting there, shirtless and breathless. His eyes are so dark, and his lips are very red and shiny. She realizes that he's kissed all of her lipgloss off. He watches her, and she knows he thinks that she's calling it off. She doesn't have that kind of self-control, though. Instead, she reaches for the bottom of her sweater and pulls it over her head, letting it fall somewhere off the side of his bed. She starts undoing the buttons of her shirt with shaking fingers, and he waits only a few moments before sliding closer and helping her. He works from the bottom, and she works from the top, and within a few seconds, her shirt is fully open, and he's sliding it off her shoulders and pushing her until she's on her back again.

He covers her again, and skin against skin is an amazing sensation. There's so much more room for him to kiss, and he gets started right way. His lips are everywhere, and his hands find new places to touch. She's making inaudible noises that she's sure should be mortifying, but they're not. He seems to like it when she lets them slip. Things go from aggressive to slow to fast to lingering… Back and forth, back and forth, and she feels like she's on a roller coaster ride. He mumbles things against her skin- thinks like _beautiful _and _yes _and she even thinks she hears a _finally._

It isn't until he's back at her ear, asking her if she's really sure that she finds herself saying anything back.

"I'm sure," she manages to choke out. "Noah, I… I need…" She doesn't know how to vocalize what she needs, but it doesn't seem to matter. He nods, knowing what she needs without her having to put words to it. One of his hands slides slowly down her waist to her hip, and he presses a kiss right under her ear.

"I really like you, Rachel," he says quietly. "I promise."

She turns her head just barely, just enough to see him staring at her with a look of seriousness that doesn't usually match him. He doesn't need to promise. She's pretty sure he could tell her that the sky is green, and she'd believe him at the moment. It's nice that he does, though. It's almost scary how badly she wants him. She kisses him again, letting all of his promises sink through her as she loses herself completely. Nothing else really matters right now.

Later, when she's pulling her sweater back over her head and running her fingers hopelessly through her hair, she thinks about where she is and what she's doing. He's gone to the bathroom (and she hopes he's not actually _hiding _in there like last time), so she's all alone in his room. She glances around, already knowing everything she'll see. She's spent a lot of time in here, and she knows what pictures are on the walls and what random items are stacked in the corners. She knows that there's always a pile of laundry on the floor and that only he knows which items are clean and which are dirty because he never puts away either. She thinks there's probably a bag of weed in his sock drawer, a box of porn under his bed, and a bottle of Jack Daniels hidden in the back of his closet, though she's never personally seen any of this. His room is so typical of any teenage boy, and it's strange because he's anything but typical.

Sure, in many ways he's nothing but a stereotype. In other ways, though, he's a lot older than sixteen. She wishes more people knew that. Then again, she likes having inside knowledge. She feels like it's a secret that not too many people know, and that sort of makes her feel special. She likes that he doesn't open himself up for the whole world. She's the opposite- people know everything about her because she tells them. She likes being around someone so different from her. Even if it's infuriating sometimes. He's all mystery and seduction, and she thinks she could get used to that.

As her eyes wander, they fall on his music notebook. She picks it up, once again reading over the notes and the words and remembering how it felt to sing them. It makes her feel all warm again, and she wonders what other secrets this boy has hidden away. She loves that he keeps so much hidden, but she can't help wanting to know the rest of it, too. Maybe in time…

"You can have it." She looks up to see him standing at the doorway. He's found his pants, but he's still shirtless, and she lets her eyes stare for a few seconds before she looks back down at the page in front of her. She hears him walk across the room and feels the bed shift under his weight as he sits down. "You can have it," he says again. "Maybe you can fix it and make it better."

"It's already perfect," she mumbles, and it's not a lie. Even in all its choppiness, she's positive that it couldn't be any better.

He doesn't say anything, just takes the book from her and rips out the pages. He hands her the loose paper, closes the notebook, and sticks it back into his bedside drawer. Rachel takes them and tries not to feel everything that she's feeling. If she lets herself give into it, she's never going to make it home by curfew.

They don't talk much as he drives her home. It's not a long ride, but she notices that he goes more slowly than usual. He even observes basic traffic laws, stopping at stop signs and slowing down for yellow lights. The heat blares from the vents, and she's hot inside of her winter coat. She can't tell if things are weird or not. She doesn't really think they are, which surprises her. They're both just tired and, she thinks, a little overwhelmed. At least she knows _she _is. She doesn't ever remember feeling so many emotions at one time, and it's exhausting. Still, she's not sure she would trade it for anything else.

When they're a mile from her house, he slips his hand into hers without saying anything. She doesn't say anything, either, just lets her fingers wrap around his as their hands rest on the seat between them. It feels normal and comfortable, and that thought doesn't scare her as much as it should.

He drops her off outside of her house. He brushes some hair behind her ear and lays a very innocent kiss against her lips. She isn't sure what it means, but she's sure that it means something. She doesn't want to leave, but the clock on his dashboard reads 10:52, and she knows that if she's late, she's going to be in trouble. So she leaves, and he waits until she's safely inside before driving away.

Her own room is very different than his.

Everything is neat and has a place. There are no random items stacked in the corner. Everything is in its rightful spot, and there is no clutter. The pictures on her walls aren't of bands or barely dressed women- they're of her family and of Broadway shows, some of which she's seen and some of which she's only dreamt about. Her clothes are hung neatly in her closet and folded properly in her dresser. Her dirty laundry is in the hamper, and her bed is neatly-made. There are no secrets in her room. She doesn't have anything hidden away- no illegal substances tucked in her underwear drawer and no immoral images stashed under her bed. Everything anyone needs to know about her is right here and on display.

Maybe if she kept more things hidden, she'd have more friends. Maybe she wouldn't want them anyway.

She needs to take a shower, but there's part of her that doesn't want to erase his scent. She can smell him all over her, and she loves it. It feels comfortable and sexy and a little bit scandalous. Really, she knows she's in trouble. It doesn't matter what she does now, she's already lost. She isn't even sure what the test was anymore or if there was ever one to begin with. All she knows is that she never feels like _this. _She doesn't want to give it up.

Her hair is a mess. She looks in the mirror and can't help smiling. Looking at her, you could tell what just happened. If she'd met her dads downstairs, there would have been no doubt about what she'd just been doing. They probably wouldn't approve, especially considering the fact that they now know all their suspicions are correct. She can't make herself care, though. Outside opinions don't matter too much to her right now. Neither does logic of intelligent decisions or anything else that might make her second-guess what's just happened. And what she wants to happen again. And again.

She lies down on her bed, still fully dressed with her shoes still on her feet. She turns her head to the side so that she can smell him in her hair. She closes her eyes, breathes it in, and smiles. Without sitting up, she reaches blindly for her purse and pulls out her phone. She doesn't know why she didn't say it moments before when they were together, but maybe she just needed to make sure it was true without any other distractions. She waits through two rings before he answers with a, "Hey," that's much calmer than the way he normally answers the phone.

She opens her eyes and stares up at her ceiling. A beat passes, and then she says, "I really like you, too."

One sentence is all the truth she needs to know for sure. It means almost everything. The papers with his writing that peek through the top of her purse say the rest.

Secrets mean everything and nothing at all.

… … …

A/N: No Santana in this chapter … *sad face* Oh, well, lots of fluff, which isn't angst! Thanks for reading!


	18. Chapter 18

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

It's pretty much uncharted territory after that.

They don't have any sort of conversation discussing which labels to attach to their relationship. There are no discussions about what to call each other or how to term it. It's ironic in a way. A year ago, she didn't know him at all, but she knew very certainly that she was his girlfriend. Now she knows him very well, and she has no clue. It's weird.

He treats her like a girlfriend. He drives her everywhere, and he waits for her after most of her classes. But he was doing all of that before, he's been doing it for awhile… Sometimes he'll kiss her in the hallway, but it's always very quickly and without obvious thought. He never tries to inhale her tonsils or anything like she's seen him do with Santana and certain other girls.

It's confusing. She wants to just come out and ask him, but she doesn't want him to freak out or feel like she's trying to put pressure on him. He's weird about that sort of thing. It's not that he's necessarily _anti-_girlfriend. He's not, she knows from personal experience. He'll _have _girlfriends, he's just not very good at it. Or at least from what she can tell. Her own situation ended because she broke up with him, so it's impossible to tell what else might have transpired had they given it the chance. But there are always outside driving forces behind his girlfriend choices. There's always an ulterior motive or an illegitimate child that drives him to act. He was no good with Mercedes, but Rachel figures that's mostly because they were maybe the oddest pair in the history of the world. He wasn't even good with Quinn, though, and Quinn was supposed to be his dream girl. Or so Rachel always assumed. Maybe she was wrong. She doesn't count Santana for several reasons, the most obvious of which is that whatever has gone on between Puck and Santana for the last however many years (because seriously, that drama dates all the way back to _middle school) _is the most screwed up thing in the history of the world.

Still, she's not sure that coming right out and asking him if she's his girlfriend is the smartest approach. He's sort of emotionally stunted, so she's not positive that's a safe idea. There's no telling how he would react.

Whatever it is, though, it doesn't slow down. They keep "_hooking up." _Almost every day really. Sometimes they just make out, and sometimes they do more. She feels like she spends more time at his house than she does at her own. There are a few nights, though, that they spend at home with her dads. They're at least cordial to him, but Rachel can tell they don't fully trust him and that they clearly think he must be up to no good. She knows that he can sense it, too, but he never says anything. He's probably used to that reaction from parents. For the most part, though, they find themselves at his house because, more often than not, they're supposed to be babysitting.

Yes, _they._

Somewhere along the way, Rachel's become as responsible for Bekah as Puck is. His mom trusts her completely, and if Rachel didn't know better, she'd say she's all but been adopted into the family. It's fun, though. She's never had a little sister or a mom, so it's fun to pretend. Of course, she realizes that in this scenario, Puck is her brother, and having sex with your brother is frowned upon in most cultures. So maybe not.

But still, things are weird.

Rachel is very well aware of the fact that not a lot of people at school want to see them together. She doesn't care so much about that, but she's not sure he's quite as comfortable with it. He never says anything about it, of course, and she's sure that if it was brought up or if anyone gave him shit, he'd tell them to fuck off in the least polite way possible. She's not quite the social kill that she used to be, given the fact that she _did _actually date Finn for awhile. She's no Cheerio, though. She's not popular by any means, but no one would be forced to take a slushie to the face simply for associating with her, either.

But regardless, he's got a lot more to lose than she does. He cares about being popular. At least more than Finn ever has. But Finn's popularity falls to him naturally. People will heckle him, sure, about glee or her or whatever, but it never lasts long. He's the most popular boy in school, and it's because he's nice and likeable and has no real enemies. Puck doesn't have that luxury- mostly because he's _not _very nice, lots of people don't like him, and he makes enemies extremely easily. His popularity rests with a heavy amount of good looks and charm and a fair dose of fear. His stock goes up and down, depending on the day. He can always find someone to hook up with, but he can't always find someone to just hang out with. He's in the top tier, of course, as far as McKinley royalty goes, but he's never going to be prom king. People just don't like him enough.

So that's why she doesn't push it.

She's not Quinn. She's not even Santana. She's already infiltrated that delicate top tier once, and she knows they don't want to see her again. Those people don't like her, and they don't like outsiders who manage to squeeze their way in. Puck will hear about it if he tries to sneak her in, and she knows it. So she keeps her distance- letting him come to her and telling herself not to be too upset when he passes her in the hallway sometimes and doesn't speak.

And then, of course, there's Finn.

Rachel has no desire to hurt him anymore than she already has. She isn't going to shove whatever's happening between Puck and herself down Finn's throat. Especially since she's stressed so many times that it's not about her choosing one or the other. She knows that he still likes her. She knows he probably even loves her. In many ways, she loves him. Maybe not the exact way she should and maybe not the same way she did two months ago, but she doesn't want him to be hurt, either. She doesn't want to flaunt any of this in front of his face, but she doesn't exactly want to lie, either. She prefers to just avoid the topic altogether if possible. And that may be easier said than done, but she'll cross that bridge when she comes to it.

One night, Rachel finds herself helping Bekah with her piano piece. They're alone in the house, with Puck at a football game and his mom on a double shift. Rachel agrees to help with the piano because Bekah begs and because she wants her to do well. She's supposed to be playing "Silent Night" in the holiday recital, which Rachel finds incredibly ironic, considering the fact that "Silent Night" is possibly the most Christian song known to man. When she brings it up to Bekah, though, all she gets is a shrug.

"I get a solo. I don't care what it is."

Rachel has to bite back her smile because she certainly understands that level of reason. She's subjected herself on more than one occasion to horrible song choices for a chance to get the spotlight. Bekah's talented- she's no prodigy, but she is well-trained. And focused. And she's willing to work. Rachel admires that because she knows how important those traits are when working for a goal in the performing arts.

"Are you coming to watch me?" Bekah takes a break from the scales she's currently tapping out to pop her fingers and look at Rachel curiously.

"Of course. I can't wait. I used to love the holiday recital when I was younger!" Rachel offers up her most encouraging smile, knowing inside that the holiday recital is actually just a stage for the thirteen and under students to mess around and try to convince their parents that their money is not being wasted. It's usually got several horrible orchestra pieces and more than one tone-deaf performance of "Joy to the World."

Bekah, though, doesn't need to hear all of that. She glances back at the piano. "Good. Because I don't know if my mom can come. She said she might have to work." She tries to keep her voice even, but Rachel can tell from the tiny flicker on her face that she's hurt by the possibility.

"I'm sure she'll be able to make it. She'll probably just have to be on call, but I'm sure she'll be there."

Bekah nods and plasters a smile on her face, showing off the gap in the front where her two top teeth still haven't grown in. It's cute, but Rachel can recognize a show-face a mile away. She doesn't call her on it, though. Instead, she offers another piece of encouragement. "And Noah'll be there for sure."

"My dad won't be."

Rachel's caught completely off-guard by the statement, which seems to come out of nowhere. She's rarely heard Mr. Puckerman mentioned by anyone, and she doesn't think she's _ever _heard Bekah talk about him. She's always just assumed that Bekah probably doesn't even really remember her father. She was only four when he left, and it's not like he's made too many appearances since then. Rachel doesn't really know what to say in response to that, but Bekah doesn't wait for an answer.

"My mom says he might come back sometime, but Noah always says he won't. I don't really care. It's just weird."

"Do you miss him?" Rachel doesn't know why she asks the question. But it's almost like a forbidden topic that doesn't seem quite so forbidden with Rebekah.

Bekah just shrugs, though, and her fingers stop over the keys. "I don't really know him. But I don't like cry about it or anything. I don't guess I hate him, though. I just don't really care." She pauses for a second and then says, "Do you miss your mom?"

Rachel stares at her, wondering where all this is coming from. For the first time in her life, she actually has an opinion about the woman who gave birth to her. Up until recently, she's been blissfully indifferent if anyone ever brought up the subject.

"I've never known her." It's almost not a lie.

She should have known, though, that so simple an explanation wouldn't be enough. Bekah is obviously privy to more information than Rachel gives her credit for. "I thought your mom adopted Noah's baby?"

Obviously, Rachel is fully aware of the situation. Still, hearing it sounds odd. She rarely thinks of it in those terms, which is stupid. It's silly because not thinking about it doesn't make it any less true.

"She did," she says finally. "But I've never really known her or been around her. She gave me up for adoption when I was born." This isn't true, and honestly, Rachel hates when people assume she's adopted. But she doesn't feel like going into the details of paid surrogacy with a nine year old. Bekah's just been exposed to adoption firsthand- she can understand that.

"Do you wish she hadn't?"

"No," Rachel answers honestly. "If she hadn't, my dads wouldn't have me." And that's the truth. As much as she's sometimes wished for a mom, she wouldn't trade her parents for anything in the world.

"I don't know anybody else who has two dads. Besides like a dad and a stepdad or something. But not like yours."

Rachel smiles, not at all offended by the bluntness. She knows it's unusual, especially for children who don't fully understand things like that. "Not a lot of people do," she says simply. And it's true. Not a lot of people _do _have two dads. At least not in Ohio.

"But you're not mad at her for giving you away?" Rachel shakes her head. "Do you think she's gonna be a good mom to Beth?" As uncomfortable as Rachel is with the top, she still manages a nod.

"I'm sure she will be."

"Did you ever see that baby?"

Rachel glances away for a second and then shakes her head. "No. I saw a lot of pictures, though." She avoided the hospital when the baby was born. She's not sure why. There was something about it, though, that she couldn't force herself to witness.

"I saw her." Rebekah interrupts the thought process. "Once. I got to hold her for a second. She looked like Quinn."

Rachel knows this to be true. From the multitude of camera phone pictures that were shoved in her face after the birth, she knows that Beth does look like extremely identical to her mother. After meeting Shelby, Rachel can sympathize with the baby who will grow up looking so similar to a woman she won't even know.

"Noah told my mom he wanted to keep her." Bekah taps out a few random notes on the piano as she speaks candidly. Rachel knows it's none of her business and that Rebekah is probably telling things she shouldn't be. She knows she shouldn't take advantage of it, but she's curious. There are things she wants to know, but she can't really just come out and ask anyone else, though.

"What did your mom say?" She tries to sound as nonchalant as possible.

"She told him he had to do whatever Quinn said."

Rachel feels her heart break a little bit. She's never heard him talk about the baby or the adoption or anything along those lines. But it was more than obvious leading up to the birth that he was less into the idea of giving the baby up than Quinn was. She wonders if he regrets it . Or if he's decided they made the right decision. Rachel still isn't sure if they did.

"I kind of think that made him mad at Quinn." Bekah shrugs. "They didn't get along very good."

They don't really even _associate _now, Rachel realizes. They aren't rude to each other or mean or anything close. They just don't really speak too much. It's not exactly uncomfortable, but there's always something there right below the surface. Rachel used to think it was some deep-rooted love that only two parents could share between each other. Now she wonders if it's more resentment than love.

She understands why Puck was reluctant to give into the idea of adoption. He's an abandoned kid himself. He probably has all sorts of inner-worries about what Beth's going to think when she gets older. He's probably certain that she'll think he didn't want her and that he just took off. He'll compare himself to his own father, which is, of course, ridiculous. The situations are totally different, and if he'd ever talk about it, she'd tell him so. She wants to tell him that what he did proves that he loves that baby girl more than anything, but it's not her place.

She's not sure he'd believe her anyway.

He comes home around ten. Bekah's already in her room, but Rachel doubts she's asleep. She can hear the TV, and the lights are on. It doesn't really matter if she goes to sleep or not since it's Friday, but Rachel wants to be at least _semi-_responsible, so she sends her upstairs under the guise of at least _preparing _for bed. He comes in slightly sweaty and exhausted. McKinley lost, of course, which is a surprise to no one. It's the last game of the season, too, but no one really cares too much, considering the fact that they have a completely perfect record this season. Of losing.

She asks him why he's not at the after-party, and he rolls his eyes as he drops down gracelessly onto the couch. "I'm not going to leave you here babysitting my sister all night while I'm at some lame-ass party."

She can tell he's had a shower since the game, but he still seems so exhausted. He smiles at her, though, when she sits down with him. She asks him about the game, and he tells her that Finn got sacked fourteen times in the first half and that ninety percent of the spectators left before the fourth quarter. He says the only interesting thing that happened was Elizabeth Macintosh falling out of a Cheerios lift and being rushed to the ER for what's probably a broken ankle. He tells her that Coach Sylvester went crazy and screamed at her for ruining the routine the whole time she was being carried out to her sister's car. But since that actually has nothing to do with the football game itself, Rachel assumes she didn't miss much.

"We made brownies," she tells him, glancing toward the kitchen where she and Bekah spent the last part of the night. "They're gluten-free, but you still might like them."

He's getting up and walking toward the kitchen before she has a chance to say anything else. Apparently the word 'brownies' outweighs 'gluten-free' or anything else. She gets up and follows him, catching him just as he takes two brownies at once and shoves one in his mouth.

"When you have kids, are you going to make them eat this shit?"

She should be disgusted by the fact that he's talking with his mouthful, but she's more worried about the fact that he just called her baked goods _shit. _"You don't like it?"

"No, it's fine," he finally swallows. "Good. But the other shit, like all that vegan crap. Are you going to make your kids do that?"

Rachel doesn't know where all the baby talk is coming from tonight, but she answers his question anyway. "_Ideally, _if I were to have children, they would share my diet. Since I'd probably be the one cooking… But if they grew up and wanted to make different choices, I wouldn't like judge them or anything."

"What if their dad's a carnivore?" He smirks at her, rightly guessing that she's oddly impressed by his elementary scientific knowledge. "Or is meat-eater one of the things on the _no fucking way _column for your future husband list?"

"I don't have a _list," _she says testily. And she doesn't. Not for that anyway. "Besides, I don't even _want _a husband."

"You want a wife?" He raises an eyebrow and seems far too interested. Rachel rolls her eyes.

"I'm talking about _marriage. _I don't think I believe in it."

He stares at her like she's crazy. "Why the fuck not? I mean, besides the fact that it's pointless and never ends well, obviously."

"I don't see the point in it," she says, shrugging. "What is it anyway? A piece of paper?"

"I thought all chicks wanted to get married. You know, with the whole gay ass fairy tale wedding shit."

She's sure he expects her to be one of those chicks. After all, she does have certain tendencies to be idealistic and overly-romantic. But she's not ever cared about a wedding really. And marriage is something that means nothing to her.

"My parents have never been married. That doesn't mean they love each other, or me, any less."

"So… You don't believe in marriage because of Prop 8 or what?" He shakes his head and stares at her. Rachel doesn't roll her eyes, mostly because she thinks it's amusing that he's referencing Prop 8. She doesn't tell him that, though.

"I don't believe in it because it doesn't _mean _anything. If you want to commit to someone, you shouldn't need some legal document to do it. And if you're going to screw it up or cheat or whatever, no piece of paper is going to stop you. All marriage means is that you have to spend more money to break up."

Puck's staring at her, and she feels slightly uncomfortable at first. But then he just laughs and shakes his head. "You're the only girl I've ever met in my whole life who doesn't want to get married."

She shrugs and looks away.

"It's cute," he tells her a second later, pinching off part of his brownie and handing it to her. "And smart. I mean, that's the fucking truth, isn't it? You think like a dude."

Rachel really does roll her eyes then. She doesn't think like a _dude_. They may not believe in marriage, either, but more often than not, their objection to marriage will be an objection to monogamy. Rachel has no objection to commitment. She thinks that when you meet the person you're supposed to be with that you _should _commit and make a life together. She just doesn't need someone else telling her it's official. She'll know it's official when she decides that she wants to spend the rest of her life with someone and have a family with them. No judge or legal document is necessary.

They end up back in the living room watching some low-budget horror film on Fearnet. It's possibly the stupidest thing Rachel's ever seen in her life, and she doesn't even know the name of it. They spend the whole time cracking up at the parts that are supposed to be scary and making fun of the horrible acting. It's movies like these that make Rachel think maybe breaking into the business won't be so difficult. After all, if _these _people can be paid actors, she's certain that she can. Of course, she'd need to add approximately three cup sizes to her bra to fit in with this particular cast, but that's beside the point.

Couches and bad scary movies are prime make out material, though, and Rachel's fully aware of the fact that words like 'prime make out material' shouldn't be in her vocabulary. Still, he said carnivore earlier, so maybe she's allowed to branch out a little as well. It's certainly not shocking, though, when his fingers start playing with her hair and his lips start playing with her neck. She purposely ignores him for a good two minutes as she stares at the TV and watches some stupid blonde girl who looks eerily like Brittany get her head bashed in by an empty bookcase. Brittany's bookcase would certainly be empty… So maybe it's not that much of a stretch.

She isn't able to keep it up for long, though. She's more easily distracted than she'd like to admit, and the now very familiar feelings that she associates solely with him stir inside her pretty quickly. She likes this, all of it. She likes the making out and the hooking up. She likes when he kisses her, and she likes when his hands start wandering. He's talented, no doubt. His showcase of talent goes far beyond a decent baritenor voice and ample guitar skills. It worries her a little bit, just how easily drawn in she is. He's very good at making her forget everything else in the world, though.

They don't get too long to enjoy themselves, though, because the sound of a key in the backdoor sends them springing apart and focusing their attention back onto the television screen where the credits of the ridiculous movie are now scrolling quickly. Mrs. Puckerman joins them in the living room and smiles. She looks so tired, though, and Rachel immediately feels sorry for her. She's just come off a fourteen hour shift, so it's impossible to even imagine how exhausted she is.

She gives them both smiles, though, dropping a kiss to the top of her son's head before asking him about the game. His response is simply a thumbs down, and she smiles again and shakes her head. "Oh, well. There's always next year, I guess…"

"Yep. Because spending senior year on a shitty ass football team will just be _awesome." _

Rachel giggles a little, and his mom rolls her eyes and sighs. She half-heartedly tells him to watch his mouth, but she clearly doesn't care. Then she announces that she's going to bed and that it's nearly midnight. This translates to… _'It's late, Rachel needs to go home.'_

She is clearly _very _in favor of whatever might transpire between Rachel and her son, and they all know her approval is based heavily on religion and not much else. Rachel doesn't mind exactly. In fact, it's sort of amusing in a screwed up sort of way. Puck thinks it's all sorts of annoying, though, but he puts up with it anyway. Regardless of her opinion, though, she clearly doesn't want anymore grandchildren right now. So she is at least _trying _to lay some sort of ground rules.

Rachel respects that, and she gets up to get her coat, saying that she needs to get home. Mrs. Puckerman tells her goodnight and goes upstairs, obviously willing to give them at least a little bit of privacy to say goodbye.

"So do you want to hang out tomorrow?" Puck asks her as she pulls on her coat and pulls her hair out of the collar.

She smiles and nods. "Yeah. I've got to go to my grandmother's in the morning, but we're usually back by like three or four."

"Cool." He looks a little bit conflicted, and she stares at him oddly. Finally, he says, "Do you want me to like take you somewhere for your birthday?"

She's taken aback by the question, and her eyebrows raise. "You can if you _want…" _she says slowly.

"I don't really know what to do with that shit," he says bluntly. "I suck at it."

"It's not a big deal," she answers quickly. "We don't have to do anything."

But he shakes his head. "No, I want you to have fun. I'm just shitty at that whole shit."

She has no idea what that 'whole shit' _is, _but she just shakes her head. "It doesn't matter. Really. I mean, we can do anything, I really don't care."

He nods and then rolls his eyes a little bit. "I'm just not really used to having a girlfriend for shit like this."

He keeps going, says more things, and she hears none of it. The one sentence she hears repeated over and over in her head for the next several moments at least _semi _points to her being his girlfriend. She can tell by his rambling that he either didn't catch himself before saying it or is so used to the idea that he doesn't think it's weird. She isn't sure which she prefers. She isn't sure she cares.

She wants him to say it again, but she's certainly not going to ask. She is careful not to bring attention to it, either, as she stands there and lets him ramble on and on about something she doesn't hear. And when he finally stops and kisses her goodnight before she heads out to her dad's car, she closes her eyes, and that sentence rings through her ears once more.

She's pretty sure she likes the sound of it.

… … …

A/N: Thanks for reading!


	19. Chapter 19

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

There are many things that set Rachel apart from the typical teenage girl.

She isn't a huge gossiper. She doesn't care about Team Edward _or _Team Jacob. She doesn't spend all of her weekends at parties. And she absolutely _abhors _shopping.

Seriously. She hates it. She's never enjoyed it, and that doesn't seem like something that will change any time in the near future. Or ever. She hates going to the mall, will never be caught dead 'window shopping,' and only ever goes into stores if she has an exact item in mind. So the mall in December? Pretty much her own personal circle of hell.

Still, there's a nine year old who has her wrapped tightly around a tiny finger. And Bekah looks so sad when she mentions how her mom is too busy to take her shopping for a new recital dress and how everything she owns is old and makes her look like a baby. Rachel feels bad for her, so she agrees to go. She also forces Puck into taking them because a) obviously they need a ride and b) she's not going to suffer alone. Misery loves company after all. It's certainly a true statement.

So that's how she finds herself breaking her lifelong vow of avoiding the mall during the holiday season. The décor is revolting and vaguely resembles something that the Sugar Plum Fairy might have vomited up. The shoppers are cranky and rude and seem to be filled with everything _but _the so-called Christmas spirit. Even Santa and his elves look like they could cut someone- not that she can blame them, of course, given the never-ending line of overly-anxious children wrapping halfway past the food court.

They end up in the kids' section of Macy's, and Rachel stands by bored as Puck leans against a rack and texts incessantly. Rebekah goes through each dress one by one and asks Rachel's opinion on every single one. The dresses all start looking the same, but Rachel manages to get the options down to five and takes Bekah to the fitting room, which seems to be the only place in the entire store that isn't packed with hurried people. She waits as Bekah tries on each dress, models it, asks for opinions, and then repeats the process all over again. Rachel seriously considers leaving her there. Or shooting herself. Or maybe just shooting Bekah. But she doesn't have a gun.

"What the fuck is taking so long?" She half-jumps when she hears Puck's voice behind her. He looks about as over this as Rachel is, which isn't really fair, as he isn't the one who has been subjected to nearly twenty minutes of the same dress over and over.

"Your damn sister," she snaps back, spinning around to glare at him. "I'm about to murder her."

"I can _hear _you," Bekah says indignantly from behind her dressing room door.

"Get your ass out here." Puck slips his phone back into his pocket and prepares to take full control of the situation. Surprisingly, Bekah obeys and comes out in a dress that Rachel's positive she's seen seventeen times already. "That's the one," he says without even looking at it properly. "Now take it off and let's go."

"But you haven't seen the rest." She's about to start whining, but he doesn't seem to care.

"Let's _go," _he says firmly, and he ignores the depressed look she gives him. She actually _literally _stomps her foot a little but turns around to go do as she's told and take the dress off. He stops her, though. "Wait." She hesitates, and he reaches out to grab the tag that's hanging from the side of the dress. "Oh, _fuck _no," he says, shaking his head. "That's too expensive."

"That's what they all cost." Bekah blinks up at him, and he rolls his eyes, walking into her fitting room and grabbing the rest of the dresses. Rachel's glad no one else is around because she's pretty sure he's not supposed to be in there. He flips through them, glancing at all the prices and hanging them one by one back on the rack.

"You can't get those," he says simply.

Rebekah looks like she might burst into tears, and Rachel prepares for the worst. She actually feels really bad for her because she looks so sad. Puck grabs a dress off the clearance rack and hands it to her. "You can get this. It's your size."

But Rebekah just looks at it in disgust. "I'm not wearing that, it's ugly!"

"Then I guess you gotta wear something you already have."

"This isn't fair!" Bekah isn't screaming, but her voice is rising to dangerously high levels. He's right on top of it, though.

"I swear to God, if you throw a fit and embarrass me, I will kick your fucking ass. Got it?"

Bekah just glares at him and falls back on her usual threat. "I'm telling Mom."

"No, _I'll _tell her," he shoots back and actually gets his phone out. "I'll tell her that you're in here causing a scene in the middle of the fucking store and acting like a three year old."

It's clear that Bekah doesn't know whether to call him on his bluff or not, but she also obviously doesn't want to get in trouble on the off-chance that he's actually being serious. So she looks at him like he's just broke her heart, tells him he's an asshole, and then slams the door to her fitting room.

"She's crying," Rachel says quietly a few moments later when she hears the soft sobs from the other side of the door.

He seems unfazed, though, and just shrugs. "So what? She cries about shit all the time. She thinks it helps her get her way, she's been doing that shit since she was two."

Rachel doesn't doubt that this is true. She knows that tears are helpful in getting one's way- she's even guilty of doing it a few times herself. Still, she can't help but feel that maybe Rebekah's actually upset and not just trying to be manipulative.

"Are you sure she can't get any of them?"

"There's no way she's getting a seventy dollar dress that she's gonna grow out of in like four months."

"Your mom wouldn't let her have it?"

"My mom won't even spend seventy bucks on _me, _and I haven't changed sizes in three damn years."

Rachel feels bad for her, knowing that she probably just wants something nice for the concert because she's excited for it. Still, it's not her decision, and if the dresses are too expensive, they're just too expensive.

"Maybe we can find something somewhere else for cheaper," she suggests quietly. "Something else she'll like."

"No, if she's going to be a little bitch, she's not getting anything," he says, not bothering to keep his voice down.

Rachel just sighs and doesn't say anything else. It's not her place. That doesn't quell the guilt she feels for getting Bekah excited about these dresses in the first place. She hadn't really considered a budget because she's not used to working with one too much. She rarely shops, but when she does, her dads will buy her most anything she picks out.

Bekah comes out of the dressing room about two minutes later. She throws the dress she's holding toward the rack, but, of course, it just falls to the floor. Then she wipes at her eyes and crosses her arms as she stomps off. Puck grabs the dress off the floor and hangs it up before catching up with her. Rachel trails behind and watches as the two of them argue some more. She follows a few feet behind them and catches more threats that involve telling their mother, though Rachel doesn't even know who's supposed to be telling on whom by this point.

Eventually, as they make their way back into the common areas of the mall, she's forced to catch up to them. The crowds are thick, and if she doesn't stick with them, she'll lose them easily. She's a little bit surprised when Puck slips his hand into hers, given the fact that he rarely shows that type of public affection with her. She doesn't really mind, though, because that means he has one less hand to beat his younger sister with. And _that _seems imminent.

They stop off at the food court for lunch, and he asks Bekah what she wants to eat. She keeps her arms crossed and barks out a rather unpleasant, "Nothing."

"Oh. You gonna starve to death then?"

"Like you'd care anyway," she huffs.

He doesn't miss a beat with his comeback. "Yeah. I could totally turn your room into a home gym. It'd be awesome."

Bekah glares at him but says nothing. Rachel thinks she might start crying again, but she doesn't want to get involved. They end up leaving without lunch, though, because Rebekah finally gets her words back and says, "I don't know why you think you can always boss me. You're not my dad."

"Yeah, well, your dad's a piece of shit, so let that one go, homegirl."

They leave after that, and it's weird and awkward because both Puckermans are actually _angry. _Rachel's caught in the crossfire, but she doesn't want to say anything or get involved in any way. She just walks with them and says nothing. When they make it out to the parking lot, she sits in the middle because she's pretty sure that if they sit beside each other, one of them will end up dead. She turns the radio up to drown out the stony silence, and when they get home, she's the last one left in the truck after they both immediately get out and storm toward the house.

Their mom can't have been home for more than ten minutes tops, so Rachel feels sorry for the immediate assault she gets when her kids greet her. Rachel is a few seconds behind, and she hides in the doorway and watches as both of them start going off about the other. It's weird actually because even though they fight a lot, Puck and Bekah are usually extremely loyal to each other. She's pretty sure this is the first time she's actually seen them make good on their promise to tell.

Bekah's in tears within seconds, and her brother's rolling his eyes so far back into his head that they'll probably get stuck. Rachel can barely understand what they're saying as they both try desperately to talk over each other, and she was _there. _She's quite sure that Mrs. Puckerman is _totally _lost.

Surprisingly enough, though, she seems more than capable at keeping up with her kids' argument and tattling. She doesn't seem impressed, though, and rolls her eyes. "Bekah, you _know _you can't get a dress that expensive.

"That's not _fair!"_

"Fine. If you want to spend your own money on it, then I'll take you back to the store myself right now, and you can buy it. But I'm not spending that much money on something you're only going to wear a few times."

Bekah looks like she might scream. Instead, she clenches her teeth and finally says (yells), "This is bullshit! You always take his side!"

Apparently this is too much because when she starts to stomp away, her mom catches her by the arm and then grips her chin, forcing her to look up. "You need to watch your mouth, young lady," she says warningly. "Or you're going to regret it."

Bekah says nothing, just rolls her eyes again, yanks out of her mother's grasp, and makes good on her previous attempt to stomp away. Rachel watches as Mrs. Puckerman then rounds on her older child. "You better start paying attention to the language you use around her because that is _your _fault." She seems seriously pissed off. "I can't do anything about the filth that comes out of _your _mouth, but if you keep pushing that off on your sister, you're both going to be sorry."

She leaves then, heading for the stairs to go after Bekah apparently. He just rolls his eyes because apparently that's the go-to move both he and his sister employ when getting lectured by their mom. Rachel still feels awkward and just stands in the doorway until she's finally acknowledged.

"I'm still hungry," he says bluntly. "You wanna eat?"

She shrugs but follows him out to his truck anyway. She doesn't feel all that hungry, but she wants to get him away from the drama his house is apt for at the moment. She has a feeling that if they stay there, he's going to end up grounded and someone may possibly end up dead. Neither scenario is ideal, so she makes her own suggestion when he starts his truck. It seems that in the few minutes they've been inside, the engine has already frozen again.

"We can go to my house and order something," she suggests casually. "My dads are out of town."

He stares at her as the truck idles. "Your dads are out of town, and you decided to withhold that information?"

She knows where his head is, and she does her best to stay nonplussed. "They're just gone for the night. There's a legal conference in Columbus, so they left this morning."

He drives straight to her house and follows her up the front steps as she lets them in.

"I hope you got an extra toothbrush because I'm staying here tonight."

She should be annoyed at his forwardness, but she's not. Instead, she just goes to the kitchen and opens the menu drawer. As her family is fully committed to take-out, they have menus from every place in Lima that delivers. She spreads them out on the counter, and he shuffles through them until he finds an Indian restaurant. She's pleased with the choice, given the fact that curry actually sounds really good at the moment. They order and then go back into the living room to wait for their food.

"I have to finish my English paper," she says, grabbing a magazine off the coffee table as he flips the television on. "Did you write yours yet?"

"No." He doesn't seem nearly as concerned as she is.

"Did you even read the book?"

"Yes," he says indignantly, and she can tell he's lying.

"What two cities is it about?"

He shoots her a sideways glare as he settles on a basketball game. "LA and Phoenix."

She checks to see what teams are playing and rolls her eyes. "Yes. Charles Dickens wrote a book about Arizona." He shrugs. "What are you planning to do?"

"Get a paper off the Internet." His eyes don't move from the screen as he gives her what is apparently a very obvious answer.

She doesn't understand him and his complete lack of caring when it comes to things like school. He hasn't failed any grades (yet), and he somehow always manages to keep a pretty average GPA. But still, he puts nearly no effort whatsoever into his work, and he doesn't even show up for class half the time. The upcoming week is the last before Christmas break, and they have midterms and final projects due. She's freaking out, and he probably hasn't even cracked open a book.

She watches him watch TV for several minutes. If he notices her staring, he doesn't say anything. She finds it infuriating that he's just so blasé about everything in the world.

"What do you want to do after high school?" she asks, not caring that he's obviously annoyed at her for talking while he's trying to watch basketball. She doesn't care. She wants to know how he expects to do _anything _when he seemingly has no drive toward anything that doesn't involve sports or sex.

"Get the fuck out of here," he says without missing a beat.

"And go where?"

"I don't fucking care as long as it doesn't start with an O and end with an O."

"You want to go to college, right?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, that's the easiest way out of this shithole, isn't it?"

Rachel finds him very irritating at moments. She doesn't understand his lack of caring, and disinterest in something as important as his _future _is just something she can't really comprehend. "You should start caring more about school then. What you do now will directly affect what happens in two years."

"Okay, thanks, Mom," he says dully, once again rolling his eyes.

"I'm not trying to be your mother. I just think you should put more effort into your schoolwork if you're serious about getting out of here and getting into a halfway decent school."

"And what do _you _plan on doing?" He finally looks away from the TV and fixes her with a stare.

"My dads want me to go to Brown," she says quietly. "That's why I have to study so much for the ACT and the SAT."

"Aiming high, huh? Isn't that Ivy League and shit?"

She nods.

"And that's what you want to do? Spend four years in some stuck-up rich school?"

"Brown's very liberal," she says automatically. "It's different from most of the Ivies."

"Yeah, it's still some stuck up rich school. Doesn't seem like your scene."

It's not. If she's being totally honest with herself, the Ivy League path has always been her parents' dream and not hers. She's considered several different options. When she was with Finn, she wanted to follow him to a state school. If it weren't for the fact that another ex-boyfriend was monopolizing the west coast, she'd be drawn to California. She's always liked Chicago, and it's not too far away. She's even thought about going to London and studying there for a few years. But all of those are just fleeting fantasies. She's always only wanted to really go _one _place.

"I want to go to New York."

"Like to NYU?"

"Maybe. I don't know." She shrugs. "I don't even know if I want to go to college."

He stares at her, now fully more interested in the words coming out of her mouth than in the 60 inch plasma across the room. "Are you serious? I thought college was your total end game. I thought that's why you put up with all this extra-curricular shit."

"I'm not _opposed _to college," she says firmly. "I just don't know if there's a point. I just want to perform, and I don't see how a degree will help that."

"It probably can't _hurt _it," he says seriously. "I mean, you want something to fall back on in case shit doesn't work out."

Rachel hates when people say that. She doesn't entertain the notion of things _not working out. _She's known her entire life what she wants to do, and there's nothing in the world that's going to stop her or get in the way of that.

"I want to be famous. I don't want to be anything else."

She realizes how silly it sounds, and she knows that those are things that idealistic five year olds say. At very nearly seventeen, she should be more grounded and realistic. But that _is _her reality. She is serious when she says it. There's nothing else in the world she wants to do but be a star. And she's going to make it happen one way or another.

He doesn't understand that. He looks at her chances of making it the same way everyone else seems to. Like they're slim to none. Even her dads don't really believe her when she tells them that she's going to make it. They support her, of course, but they also tell her to look into other things. Just in case. Puck's no different on that front. She shouldn't be surprised.

"I think you'll be famous." She _is _surprised to hear that. He doesn't even sound like he's just placating her, either- he sounds really serious. She looks at him, and he lifts his shoulder and tilts his head a little. "I mean, you're like the most talented person in the world, right? And fuck knows you want it bad enough."

"I want it more than anything," she admits, and her voice is soft. She feels suddenly very vulnerable discussing this with him. He isn't exactly the type of person she expects to understand this, given the fact that he seems to know jackshit about being driven and focused. She's not sure he has any goals at all that reach beyond getting laid, getting wasted, and getting out of Lima. He _should. _He's smart enough (and talented enough) to do something really amazing. He just has no direction.

"Well, you'll get it." He seems so nonchalant about the whole thing, as if there's no doubt in his mind that he's right and that it's just that easy. "You deserve it. And I mean, you'll pretty much do anything to make it happen, won't you?"

She feels something inside of her that's a little bit too happy with his statement. She notices the small smile on her face, but the doorbell that rings interrupts her. The food's here, and he gets up to go answer the door and pay while she goes to the kitchen to get some plates out. She can smell the heavy aroma before he's even joined her, but when he sets the food on the counter, it's not to start scooping it onto plates. He uses his hands instead to grab her by the shoulders and kiss her.

She's caught off-guard at first, but it's really easy to relax into his kisses- especially now that she's so used to them. This one doesn't last very long, and he pulls away and starts rummaging through a drawer for some forks before tossing an excuse over his shoulder that they're both about to have "Indian food breath."

The next couple of hours pass quickly. They eat in the living room, and he watches the rest of the basketball game while she paints her toenails. Then she asks if she can paint his, and he throws a pillow at her head and tells her to fuck off. His mom calls him four times, and he ignores her every time. Finally, Rachel grabs his phone and answers, assuring Mrs. Puckerman that they're fine and that they're just hanging out at her house watching TV. It's not even a lie, but she's _positive _his mom thinks it is.

"She's always so fucking pushy," Puck snaps, the second Rachel lays his phone back onto the coffee table. "She can't leave me alone for two fucking seconds."

"She's your mother. She has a right to know where you are." He scowls at her, and she ignores it, "By the way, she definitely doesn't believe you're at my house watching TV."

"Always assumes the fucking worst."

Rachel rolls her eyes as she pushes herself off the couch. "Oh, my god, can you _blame _her?"

She goes upstairs and gets her laptop, knowing that if she doesn't finish her English paper soon, she's going to be even more stressed about it come Wednesday. When she gets back to the living room, she moves to sit down beside him, but he pulls her into his lap and turns the basketball game down.

"Oh, are you going to help me with my _Tale of Two Cities _paper?" she asks sarcastically, flipping the laptop on and waiting as it boots up.

He nods. "Yeah, duh. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…" She turns her head sharply and stares at him. He flashes her a grin and shrugs. "That's as far as I got."

Rachel wants to be annoyed, but she's a little bit amused. It's not going to do her any good to show this, though, so she turns her head away and bites back the smile that threatens her lips. She tries to ignore the way he's obviously attempting to distract her, which means pretending not to notice the way his lips feel against her neck or the way his nose brushes against the side of her face.

"Stop," she tells him firmly. "I have to do my homework." That doesn't stop her head from turning on its own accord and giving him better access.

"Fuck this shit." His voice is careless and his tone blunt. "There's no musical about this shit, so fuck it."

"_Actually," s_he corrects him, "there _is _a _Tale of Two Cities _musical. It was just on Broadway a couple of years ago, but it didn't stay open very long."

She literally _feels _his eyes roll against her cheek, and it makes her giggle. "You're seriously like legit some kind of freak of nature," he tells her seriously. She doesn't get offended, though. Instead, she laughs again.

"I know."

"You're lucky you're like sort of hot."

She wonders if "sort of hot" is his idea of a compliment, but she loses that thought when his hand starts sliding under her shirt. She knows all too well how this will end, and it _won't _be with her paper getting completed. She should get up and move to a different seat, but his lap is really comfortable, and she likes the way his hand feels hot against her stomach. So that's probably why she turns her head around and lets him kiss her. Then she giggles against his lips and pulls away.

"You still have Indian food breath," she tells him, smirking.

"That's _your _breath, babe."

She smiles and shakes her head but lets him kiss her again. And she lets him carefully move her laptop to the coffee table. _And _she lets him use her hips as leverage to get her turned around and straddling him.

And then his phone rings, and he's slamming his head backwards against her sofa.

"Fucking _Mom!" _he says angrily, reaching around her for the phone, obviously about to snap it open and get himself into real trouble. He stops, though, when he glances at the display. He's a lot calmer when he opens the phone and answers it.

"Hey." He sounds weird, and it's almost like he's straining himself to be calm. Rachel doesn't know who it is, and she watches him wordlessly as she listens to a one-sided conversation. "Nothing… Yeah, what's wrong?... No, why are you crying?... Yeah… I don't… What the fuck did your mom say?... Shit, Q, I don't know…"

Q… There's only one Q, and Rachel knows exactly who it is. She doesn't know whether she should be mad or worried exactly that Quinn is calling him randomly. To the best of her knowledge, Quinn and Puck don't even associate with each other that often anymore. Not beyond the necessity that school or glee brings. They run in the same social circle that all the McKinley athletes do, as the jocks and the Cheerios tend to stick together for the most part. But it's not like they go out of their way to talk to each other or hang out. Things are strained between them, but maybe not totally weird. Still, it's odd that she's calling out of nowhere, and when Rachel moves off of Puck's lap, he doesn't even seem to notice.

"No, okay… Yeah, okay… _Yeah… _ Just give me… I said okay, Quinn… Fuck. Yes… Okay, bye."

He hangs up and runs a hand over his face. Rachel says nothing and just watches him until he finally acknowledges her.

"That was Quinn."

"Oh, I didn't guess." Rachel hates the obvious snarkiness that seeps out without her permission. She doesn't _think _she's jealous. She doesn't want to be.

He seems to miss her sarcasm altogether, though, which clearly means he's effectively distracted by whatever his beautiful ex-girlfriend/baby mama's just said. "Her dad moved back in."

"I thought he cheated on her mom, so she threw him out?"

"Yeah, well, apparently she forgives and forgets with a few Vicodin and a couple glasses of wine."

Rachel doesn't know what she's supposed to say to that, so she just sits silently and waits for him to finish.

"He told Quinn to get out," he says dully. "And her mom didn't stop him."

Rachel looks away. She feels bad, not able to imagine what it must feel like to be kicked out of her own home, especially by the people who are supposed to love her the most no matter what. Quinn might be generally evil, but she doesn't deserve that. Still, she doesn't know what it has to do with Puck, either. Now that there's no baby, they don't have any real connection that she's aware of.

"Why is that your problem?" She doesn't want to sound like a bitch, but she doesn't fully understand.

"It's just… I gotta go." He stands up, and she watches him and says nothing. He looks at her, and obviously he has at least _some _sense of reality because he apparently reads her face well enough to know that she's less than impressed. "I'm sorry," he says, and it almost sounds honest. "I just… It _is _my problem."

He grabs his phone and his keys and tells her he'll "try to stop back by" before he kisses her cheek and leaves. She doesn't walk him out or even bother returning his, "Bye." She just sits on her couch and tries not to be as bothered as she really is. Does she even have a _right _to be?

There's a part of her that's still not even sure where she stands with him. Yes, he's referred to her as his girlfriend. _Once. _But that was in passing, and she isn't sure if he was even being serious. And even if she _is _his girlfriend, does she have a right to be upset when he ditches her for his ex-girlfriend? Even if the ex-girlfriend is having some sort of crisis? She feels like a bitch for even contemplating it, but she can't help it. She isn't that self-confident.

One sentence pretty much sums it up anyway. _"It _is _my problem." _He said it himself. Whether it matters or not, he's obviously still got at least _some _sort of loyalty toward Quinn. Enough to choose her over Rachel.

And Rachel doesn't know how she's supposed to deal with that.

... … …

A/N: Oh, these clueless kids! The drama's coming back next chapter, but probably not in the way anyone 's going to expect. Thanks for reading, and reviews are awesome!


	20. Chapter 20

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

Rachel isn't sure what's going on with Quinn.

The only thing she knows for _sure _is that Puck doesn't "stop back by" like he hinted he might. He also doesn't answer when she texts him around ten and asks him if everything's okay. She honestly doesn't know what to think of it. She keeps telling herself that he just feels guilty and that he's got some misplaced loyalty when it comes to Quinn and what he considers his responsibility. She tells herself that he doesn't _want _Quinn, not as a girlfriend or anything else. He isn't battling any sort of feelings for her, and he doesn't secretly want her back. All of this sounds very nice in her head, but she isn't sure she believes it. She _wants _to believe it, but it's hard.

Quinn is Quinn. Beautiful and perfect. Captain of the Cheerios. Homecoming Queen. You name it, she's had it. Sure, she lost some of it last year, but she's living proof that the beautiful blonde princess can always win back her fairytale if she tries hard enough. Rachel doesn't have any of that- never has and never will. She's not even close. She's just that girl who watches from afar and wonders what it must feel like to be so totally adored.

So obviously, it's very easy to be a little intimidated by Quinn's utter flawlessness.

It's times like these that Rachel really wishes she had a real friend. Just one. She just wants an outside opinion- someone to either confirm or deny her right to be self-conscious about the situation. She doesn't have any real girlfriends, though. The closest she's got is probably Tina, who, while nice enough, is certainly not someone Rachel trusts enough to divulge secrets to. The last thing she wants is for the whole glee club to know her insecurities.

Who else is she supposed to ask? Puck? _Obviously _not. Finn? She isn't positive he's speaking to her today (his position changes daily), and regardless, she definitely doesn't think that would be the ideal way to break the news that she's _probably _(maybe) with Puck now. So no. She has no options. She just goes to bed and wills herself not to think.

She wakes up to a pitch-black room and the sound of her phone ringing.

She manages to find her phone through her half-asleep haze and answer it. "Are you awake? I'm outside."

She wants to tell him _no, _it's the middle of the night and she's _asleep, _but her brain functions without her, and she finds herself stumbling out of bed and down the stairs to her front door. Puck's standing on her porch looking tired and depressed. His cheeks are bright red, and his breath freezes with every exhale. She shivers against the sudden cold that invades her when she opens the door.

"Sorry," he apologizes quietly, "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"What time is it?"

"3:15. Can I sleep with you?"

She doesn't answer. She just walks away back toward the stairs and leaves him to follow and lock the door. Her eyes can barely focus as she makes her way back up to her room. She hears him behind her, and they still don't say anything as she climbs back into her bed. It's warm and comfortable, and she feels a cool rush of air a few moments later when he lifts up her comforter and crawls in behind her. He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her back closer to him. His forearm is pressed against her stomach, and she flinches.

"You're freezing," she mumbles dazedly.

And he just whispers a quiet, "Sorry," before kissing the back of her hair and making good on his request to literally just _sleep _with her.

The next time she wakes up, the room is flooded with light, and she's very hot. It takes her a second to adjust and remember how she got into this position, but it comes back pretty quickly. She's still wrapped up in his arms, though now he's holding her a little bit more tightly. She's in her pajamas, and he's still fully-dressed in jeans, sweatshirt, and socks. It's too warm, despite the fact that she can see snow falling lightly on the other side of her window. She turns her head just enough to get a look at Puck, and she sees that he's got beads of sweat just beginning to form at his hairline. He's still totally knocked out, but she knows he's too hot.

She twists herself out of his embrace and sits up without thinking. He just flinches a little bit and then rolls over to bury his face into her pillows without waking up. She's a little bit surprised at how not tempted she was to stay there lying with him. It's the first time she's ever woken up in the morning with a boy in her bed, and while it's somewhat nice, it's also a little scary. She thinks it's a little bit amusing that they're both wearing so many clothes because that certainly wasn't a detail she ever planned when she imagined waking up with someone else. She doesn't know what the protocol is here. She doesn't know if she's supposed to wake him up or go cook breakfast or what. Deciding she should at least brush her teeth, she slips into the bathroom to take care of those little things- brushing her teeth, washing her face, and finally slipping her hair up into a messy bun. She wants to put on makeup and get dressed, but she doesn't know if that makes it even weirder.

Leaving him alone in her bed, she heads downstairs and grabs an apple and a bottle of water for breakfast. She takes them into the living room and turns on the television, keeping the volume low and trying her best to ignore just how awkward it is to leave a guy asleep in her bed. She feels half-scandalized, which is stupid since they didn't do _anything _besides sleep and that even if they _had, _it's certainly not like it would have been the first time.

She doesn't know what she's watching- some news program that she's not even paying attention to. Her ears perk up when she hears movement over her head, and she listens as he obviously gets up and goes to the bathroom. She wonders if he feels as weird as she does. She finds out a few minutes later, when he hits the bottom of the stairs and looks at her sleepily.

"I'm really sorry," he says groggily. "I didn't mean to wake you up last night."

She shrugs one shoulder and takes a drink from her water, trying not to appear as interested in his early morning appearance as she really is. He doesn't have any hair to be tousled or anything, but his eyes look tired and there's a hint of stubble just under his chin. His clothes are wrinkled, and while it's not exactly _attractive, _there's something about it that she finds sort of appealing.

"How's Quinn?" She feels like it's the easiest question to start with and also the one she's been wondering about since yesterday afternoon.

He sits down on the sofa, but he leaves space between them. "She's okay."

"Did you just take her to your house and leave her there?"

He actually laughs a little and shakes his head. "No, I took her to _Mercedes's_ house and left her. She can't stay with me." His voice goes a little bit quieter as he shakes his head again. "My mom can't stand her."

Rachel doesn't want to feel as smug about that statement as she actually does. It's childish, and she knows it. Still, Mrs. Puckerman adores _her, _so it makes her feel happy to finally have at least _something _over Quinn.

"Did you see her parents?" She glances over at him, taking another sip from her water and setting the now half-eaten apple onto the coffee table. "Quinn's, I mean."

"Yeah, first her dad threatened to call the cops, then he threatened to shoot me."

He says it so seriously that although it's humorous, she doesn't even crack a smile. "And her mom?"

"Her mom stood around oblivious and didn't do shit to stand up for her daughter. She's a bitch."

Rachel doesn't know how to respond to that. She's seen Quinn's mom and can easily imagine that exact scenario. She can't imagine someone who would just stand by and let their own child be treated like that.

"Do you have a toothbrush or something that I can use?" He changes the subject, and she nods, going into the downstairs guest bathroom to get him one of the unopened toothbrushes that are kept there.

"You can take a shower if you want," she says awkwardly. "I mean, I don't have any underwear or anything. Obviously." She inwardly cringes at her own stupidity. _Obviously. _Somehow her voice keeps going. "But I mean, if you want... There's extra towels in the closet."

He smiles at her, taking the toothbrush and standing up. She can tell he's a little amused by her uneasiness. "I need to leave in a little while anyway. I'll just wait til I get home."

She nods, trying _not _to imagine him in her shower. The more she tries, though, the clearer the image becomes, and she's blushing within seconds. It's during the time that he's back upstairs in her bathroom, though, that she remembers that she's angry. Well, maybe not _angry, _but she's definitely irritated. She spent the whole night before thinking of things from the day that had annoyed her, and she'd come up with a pretty big list.

The most significant one, of course, being the fact that he left her and ignored her with no real sort of explanation.

And yes, maybe he did have a good reason for doing so, but she isn't convinced that he went about it in the right way or that that should fully excuse him for just flat out ignoring her after he ditched her in the middle of a make-out session. She doesn't want to be selfish, but she's pretty sure that's an asshole move, and she sort of intends to call him on it.

When he comes back downstairs, though, he sits right beside her on the couch and wraps both arms around her. He's hugging her, and she finds it a little random and odd, but she also loves it a little bit, too. She likes being wrapped up his arms because even though he's not as big as Finn, he seems stronger and even more protective. Sometimes being so small is annoying, but sometimes, like right now, she loves it.

"Sorry about yesterday," he mumbles into her hair. "I wanted to spend the whole day with you. It just got fucked up."

It's like he can read her mind. She moves her head to tell him that it's alright because she's suddenly very forgiving. But then she smells it. Quinn's perfume is all over his shirt, and when she turns her head just slightly, she can smell it on his neck, too. She can't believe she didn't notice it the night before, but maybe she was just too tired. Now it's nearly overpowering, though, and certainly unmistakable. She pulls away and looks at him.

"What happened with you and Quinn?" she asks bluntly. "Last night?"

He stares at her for a second, and she can tell he's confused. "Nothing. I went to help her get her shit out and then took over to Mercedes's house."

"Between then," she corrects, feeling a sudden rush of confidence that she can't pinpoint. "Between the time you picked her up and then dropped her off with Mercedes. Because that doesn't take all night, Noah. It definitely doesn't take until three in the morning."

She can't tell if he's angry or if he's wary. He doesn't say anything for a long moment, and then finally he shakes his head. "She was really upset. So I took her to hang out for a little while to see if she'd calm down."

"Did you sleep with her?"

She has _no _idea what's gotten into her and made her so bold, but she isn't worried about it. In fact, she's glad that it's coming out like this. It makes it easier if she feels like she has no control over the words leaving her mouth.

Puck, though, snorts at her question and rolls his eyes. "Right," he says sarcastically. "Quinn don't get down like that."

She stares at him, raises her eyebrows, and says nothing. _Surely _he must realize how idiotic that statement sounds, given the fact that he had a bird's eye view of the birth of little Baby Fabray-Puckerman seven months ago. She's not Finn. She _knows _how babies are made, and she's Jewish, so she doesn't even have to pretend to believe in the possibility of immaculate conception.

"Yeah, _once," _he says, rolling his eyes all over again. "_Ever." _

She's surprised by that, and she doesn't really think she believes him. After all, he and Quinn were together for several months (albeit forcibly), and it's not like their situation could have turned much worse. They _lived _together after all. And plus, she _knows _him. She doesn't believe he was just waiting idly by. Still, what proof does she have, and what does it even _matter? _She doesn't care what happened between them in the spring, she just wants to know what happened between them last night.

"You smell just like her. That seems like a little bit more than just _hanging out." _

And then he gets pissed and sort of glares at her. "What's with the twenty fucking questions, Rachel?" he asks hatefully. "I already told you nothing happened, so just fucking trust me, okay?"

When he says 'trust me,' bad things tend to happen. She tends to end up high or drunk or witnessing some other sort of crime spree. Or, you know, Quinn ends up pregnant. It's hard to _trust _someone who always ends up doing something extremely immoral following that sentence.

Still, if she doesn't trust him, then why is she even playing this game? Sometimes people deserve the benefit of the doubt.

Things are okay, but slightly strained, between them for the rest of the week. They don't have much time for socializing or anything like that because they've both got tons of midterms, projects, and papers due. Even if his actually include little effort, illegally buying papers off the Internet and printing them off still takes time. They don't see much of each other outside of school, and they really don't see much of each other _inside _of school, either. They do manage to skip Spanish together one day and spend the hour in his truck, but that's about the extent of it.

Rachel's glad when Friday rolls around because not only is it her birthday, it also means she gets two full weeks without school. She doesn't have to face the idiots in the hallway or her frenemies in glee. She can just relax at home, work on her Pilates, and maybe _finally _spend some time with the only person she really wants to acknowledge anyway.

She's waiting for him at the end of the hallway when school lets out when she hears someone say her name from a few feet away. She turns around, and there's Finn. Apparently he's speaking to her today, and he doesn't even seem loaded up with sarcasm or anything. She gives him a little smile, and he pushes his way over to her.

"Hey," he says, and it's immediately awkward. She can tell he hasn't thought out what he's going to say beyond the initial greeting, and she doesn't know what he wants to hear back.

"Hey." She keeps the stupid smile, not knowing what else to do.

"So, um, you doing anything for Christmas?"

"Jewish," she says pointedly, trying not to laugh.

"Oh, right." He seems so nervous, and she sort of thinks it's cute. "So, like Hanukkah or whatever?"

"Hanukkah was two weeks ago."

She giggles at how frustrated he seems to be with his total lack to get anything right. He finally just shrugs and says, "Well, happy birthday anyway."

And she smiles again. "Thanks." She's surprised that he remembered. And happy actually. But there's a part of her that knows it's listed under today's events on Facebook, so maybe she shouldn't be so pleased. Still, it's definitely nice that he brings it up.

"You doing anything?"

She shrugs, not really knowing the answer. "I don't know," she answers honestly. "Maybe. Probably nothing too big."

"Is Puck taking you out?"

She doesn't hear any sort of crazed lunacy in his voice, and she doesn't want to lie. So she just nods a little and mumbles a quiet, "Yeah."

"Are you guys like _together?" _He just puts it right out there, and while part of her wants to deny it and just go on living in blissful ignorance, another part of her just wants it all out in the open.

"Sort of."

It's the only thing she can honestly say. She can't say _yes _because she's not a hundred percent sure if that's the full answer. But she can't say _no, _either, because he's the only person she's currently involved with in any sort of romantic capacity. So she just says _sort of _and leaves it at that.

She expects Finn to be pissed and to drop right back into his angry, sarcastic mode. He doesn't, though. He just nods and looks away for a few seconds.

"Finn…" She doesn't know what she's finishing that up with, so her voice just trails.

"I'm not going to be an asshole, Rachel," he tells her, and his voice sounds calm and resolute when he looks back at her. "I'm not." She stares at him. "I still fucking hate him, but I don't hate you, okay? And like, I think maybe we can be friends."

Her face lifts into a smile again, and she isn't sure why she's so happy. Maybe she shouldn't be, considering the fact that he's just admitted to hating her (maybe) boyfriend. But she's waiting so long to hear him say that he doesn't hate _her _that she can't help how pleased she is.

"I _am _really sorry," she tells him honestly. "I'm sorry I hurt you." She's telling the truth. She's carrying so much guilt over hurting him that just hearing him finally speak to her civilly feels like a ton of weight being lifted from her chest.

Finn just shrugs one shoulder, and she can't tell if he's over it or if he's just putting up defenses. "I hurt you, too," he admits quietly. "And I'm sorry."

"You're one of my best friends."

He smiles at her, that adorable smile that always makes her happy just by seeing it. And then he hugs her, and she hugs him back, not thinking anything of it because it just all feels so natural. It's so _easy _with Finn, and there's a small part of her that wishes she still felt something there. Just because it would make things so much simpler. But she knows that whatever was there before has been replaced by something else. Or some_one_ else. As easy as this is and as perfect as Finn can seem, she doesn't feel the same way in his arms as she does in someone else's.

And when she turns her head just slightly in the hug, she sees that someone else coming toward them, walking down the hall with purpose and with a less-than-pleased look on his face. Instinctively, Rachel steps out of Finn's embrace and plasters on a smile, though now it's tinged with nervousness. She doesn't want to cause any kind of scene or extra drama, so she quietly says, "Thanks for the happy birthday," just before Puck slings an arm over her shoulder and keeps walking straight for the glass doors at the end of the hallway without a word. She glances back at Finn and sees that his smile as faded into a full-out glare, and then she gets her senses back around her.

Because she is not an object _or _stupid, she shrugs out of the hold Puck has on her and crosses her arms. "Stop being a jerk," she tells him flatly as they make their way into the chilly afternoon sun.

"Oh, touching you makes me a jerk?" He rolls his eyes. "Is Finn a jerk, too? You didn't seem to mind him touching you."

Rachel can't stand the way he acts sometimes, and she's past the point of being blinded by his looks (though sometimes she still slips…). "Considering the fact that you _don't _touch me in public, yeah, that pretty much makes you a jerk. And as for Finn, get over it already."

She doesn't really know why she's so hostile, but it's kind of the truth. He rarely touches her in public, especially at school. He was a lot more hands-on before they ever slept together and certainly before he ever called her his girlfriend (which she's beginning to think more and more all the time had to be an accident). And she's sick of being in the middle of him and Finn. Yes, she's aware of the fact that she did it to herself and that the whole reason they're righting (this time) is because of her. But she's sick of being treated like some kind of property that they can claim whenever it's convenient and use as a ploy to make the other one jealous. She doesn't care how territorial men are at their very core. She is a _person, _and she wants to be treated with some kind of damn respect.

"What the fuck do you want from me, Rachel?" he snaps, stopping at his truck and staring at her hatefully. "You want me to fuck you right here in the middle of the goddamn parking lot or something? I don't know why you have to be so fucking insecure about every little stupid thing. Jesus fucking _Christ."_

She ignores him. If she says anything back, they're going to get into a huge argument, and it will be all over the blogosphere by five o'clock. Stupid Jacob and all his stupid spies. Instead of giving into that urge, she calmly opens the passenger door to his truck and climbs in. He still looks pissed off when he goes to the other side and follows her. The second his door is closed, though, and he's put the truck in gear and is heading toward the exit, he says exactly what's on his mind.

"You do a really fucked up job of acting like you're so over that asshole, you know that? Practically mounting him in the middle of the goddamn hallway."

Rachel's mouth falls open, and her head snaps to the left to stare at him. "Are you s_erious?" _she asks in disbelief.

"You think that's cool for you to just be all up on your ex-boyfriend like that?" He won't even look over at her, and she can tell he's trying really hard not to snap and start screaming. She thinks maybe she should be afraid, but she's not.

"I'm sorry," she answers back, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. "Did you or did you not come climb into _my _bed last weekend after spending all _night _with your ex-girlfriend?"

"That's different," he snaps without any hesitation. "Don't even pretend like you understand that shit."

She doesn't know whether to be more hurt or angry that he's just written her off so blatantly as having no comprehension of his life. Either way, it doesn't matter. "You're an asshole," she tells him point blank, and he just rolls his eyes.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

"Finn is my _friend," _she says forcefully, and it feels like a statement she's made a million times over the past few months. "I didn't realize I wasn't allowed to have those, sorry."

"He's not your _friend, _Rachel." It sounds so familiar that she just shakes her head.

"Funny. He said exactly the same thing about you."

"Right. And then you started fucking me, didn't you?"

Rachel's breath catches because she realizes that he's completely right. She looks out the window and says nothing, determinedly keeping her face as blank as possible. It's not going to do her any good to show much reaction, considering the fact that the only reaction that feels natural involves tears. And she _definitely _isn't going to cry.

They drive in total silence the rest of the way to her house, and it's extremely uncomfortable. She can feel the anger that's bubbling around both of them, and while a huge part of her really does want to burst into tears, another part of her just wants to hit something. Like maybe his face. When he pulls up in front of her house, though, he turns the engine off on his truck just as she reaches for the door handle.

"Rachel, wait." She hesitates and looks over at her shoulder at him. He doesn't seem angry at all now, and she thinks he might literally be bipolar. He looks… She's not sure, maybe _confused? _

"What?" she asks, unable to keep the snappiness out of her voice.

"I'm sorry I'm fucking up your birthday."

She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't leave, either.

He doesn't sound like he's lying. He just sounds like he doesn't know what he's supposed to say. She waits for him to think of something, and finally he does. His voice isn't nearly as hateful as it was just a few minutes ago. "I'm just being a dick. I mean… Finn and shit." Surprisingly, she knows exactly what that means. "I'm sorry, okay?"

"You can't just be mean to me whenever you want to," she says stubbornly, though she keeps the edge out of her voice. "And you can't just treat me like some toy to hold over Finn's head."

He nods, and his eyes flicker for a second. "You're still gonna let me take you out tonight, right?"

Of course she is. She should have more willpower than that, but she doesn't. So she just nods.

"I'll fix it tonight, okay?" She doesn't know what _it _is exactly, but she trusts him. And when he leans over and kisses her, she almost forgets to be angry at all.

She has a little birthday celebration with her dads that afternoon, and she _finally _gets the car everyone else got a year ago. It's okay, though, because she's ecstatic, and she hugs them both tightly and kisses them and tells them how they're the most awesome parents in the whole world. And she really means it. Then she spends nearly an hour and a half getting ready- taking a shower, doing her hair, and picking out the right dress. She doesn't even know where she's going to be spending the evening, but she wants to look perfect. Well, as perfect as it's possible for her to look- she knows she's not the most beautiful person in the world or anything, but she does the best she can with what she's got.

At 7:30, he comes to her house to pick her up, and she begs to drive because she can't wait to try out her new car. He lets her, and she drives them to the restaurant he's picked out. It's a nice restaurant, and she's been there a few times with her dads. She's never been here on a date before, though, and she can't help feeling a little special as they stand in the lobby waiting for their table. It's crowded, and even though they've got a reservation, several Christmas parties seem to be taking up much of the space. There's nowhere to sit, so they wait in a corner with about twenty other people.

"This is the first time we've ever been on a date." Rachel smiles when he spins her around and links his hands behind her waist, tugging her close to him.

"Yeah, I don't really do dates a lot," he says, but he smiles back at her, and it makes her feel amazing. "You look really pretty." And then he drops a quick kiss against her lips, and she beams up at him.

It's really easy to forget the day's earlier argument when he's being so nice to her. She's in a much better mood now anyway, and she sees a familiar side of him- the side she likes best, the side that's more Noah than Puck.

"Here." He removes his hands from her just long enough to reach into his coat and pull out a small wrapped gift. She can tell from looking at it that it's a book, and she's a little bit confused. She takes it, though, and carefully removes the paper. "I know you said you don't think you're any good at writing your own shit," and by _shit, _she knows he means music, "but you can still try. You can write your stuff, and I can write mine. And you know, maybe one day we can put it together."

The journal is leather-bound with a single gold star embroidered at the edge of the spine. The pages are all empty and pure white, and she can't believe he's obviously put actual thought into this. It's so simple, but it's so _not._

"Thank you," she says quietly, looking up at him from the journal.

"I know you think your stuff's not any good, but I bet it's like really awesome."

"Thank you," she says again, her voice full of nothing but seriousness.

And then she kisses him right there in front of the whole crowd of people waiting. She doesn't care if there's an audience, and he doesn't seem to, either. His hand runs cautiously through her hair, careful not to mess it up, and she loves how slowly he kisses her, almost like he's doing it on purpose so that they can savor it.

Their name's called shortly after that, and they sit at a small two-seat table towards the back of the restaurant. She feels like she's on some sort of high, though, and she thinks she'd probably rather be christening the backseat of her car than in this five star restaurant. She appreciates all his effort, though, and even though she feels very distracted by her hormones, she makes it through dinner without making a fool of herself. It's okay, though, she can tell that his thoughts are pretty much somewhere along the same line, and they spend the next hour flirting softly over pasta and dessert.

She thinks it just may be the best birthday ever.

When they get up to leave, he helps her with her coat and holds her hand as they head back towards the front of the restaurant. It's still crowded up there, with several people still waiting for tables. Rachel barely notices them, though, because she's caught up in a quiet conversation with her date. They nearly make it to the door when she happens to glimpse a few people from school standing close by. They apparently notice her, too, because one of the idiots from the hockey team doesn't bother lowering his voice as he makes his observation.

"Fuck, Puckerman. This shit is true?"

Rachel tries to keep walking, knowing that whatever's about to be said next isn't going to end well. She's embarrassed, and her good mood is immediately dashed, but she knows the best course of action in these situations is to just walk away. Of course, Puck doesn't know the meaning of _walk away, _and he stops immediately and glares.

"You got a fucking problem, Lowell?" he asks lowly, and Rachel feels his hand tighten just slightly around her own.

Damon Lowell, idiot senior jock, is apparently not intimidated. "You think just 'cause you knock up one Cheerio, that means you can just go slumming it wherever you want?"

_Slumming it. _She knows perfectly well that that's exactly what he's doing. She tells herself not to be bothered and to ignore the whole conversation, but that's so much easier said than done. It's humiliating, and she looks down at the floor in an effort to effectively avert her eyes. She wants to speak up and just tell him to leave with her, but there's a part of her that's too shy, or maybe just too self-conscious, to speak.

Still, she tugs on his hand just a little bit, and he turns his head and looks at her. Maybe he can tell uncomfortable she is because he actually turns around to leave the impending fight. Before they make it to the door, though, Lowell says something else that she doesn't even hear. Puck apparently hears it perfectly well, though, because the very next thing she knows, his hand isn't in hers anymore, and he's landing a punch that's hard enough to make Lowell go stumbling backwards into the wall.

There are gasps and a few shrieks from the people around them. Rachel just stands totally still and watches in horror as it doesn't just end at one punch. He gets in three or four before Lowell finally hits back, and then there's a full-on fight. Several restaurant workers run over to try to break it up, but it's no use. It's a bad fight, worse than the ones that normally take place in the school hallways. More restaurant people come rushing out, including what appears to be a couple of managers. Three other people get hit in the process of trying to break up the fight, and Rachel doesn't know what to do. She panics, though, when she flashing blue lights pull up outside within minutes, and she finally runs over to try to break up the fight herself, knowing that it's about to end very, _very _badly.

When she grabs his arm and yells his name, Puck actually stops and lets her pull him away. She doesn't realize she's crying until he looks at her in a daze, and she can tell he's staring at her cheeks. He doesn't have a chance to say anything, though, because he's in handcuffs within seconds. She sees his eyes close briefly as he realizes exactly what he's done, but the next thing she knows, one of the cops is grabbing her arm and cuffing her, too.

"She didn't _do _anything!" Rachel hears his protest as she's pushed out the front door, but she's in shock. Probably literally _shock. _

He repeats it when they're outside and he's bent over a cop car being searched. "She didn't do anything!" The cop who's got him snaps at him to shut up before shoving him into the back of the car. Rachel sees Lowell being ushered into the back of another squad car, and she watches as one of the officers searches her purse and then tells her to get in.

Despite the fact that she's not alone in the back of the police car, Rachel's never been more terrified in her life. She turns her head to look at Puck who has his own head slumped backwards against the seat. He's got a look on his face that she's never seen before, and she cries a little bit more at seeing it.

He lifts his head at the sound and looks at her. "I'm sorry," he whispers, and she thinks she's never seen him look so sad before in his entire life. "Shit…"

Two officers get into the front then. One of them, the only female in the four officer group that's shown up, turns around to look at them. "How old are you?" she asks, looking at Puck first.

He mutters, "Sixteen," and then looks away before she asks Rachel the same question.

"Six… Seventeen," she corrects herself.

The officer just shakes her head. "Don't you kids know better than to get into shit like this?" She isn't hostile or anything. She actually sounds like she feels sorry for them.

They're split up the second they get to the police station, and Rachel is surprised to see just how _not _like TV the 'booking' process goes. She doesn't actually get _booked _at all. An officer takes her into a room, removes the handcuffs, and then asks her several questions. She just tells the truth because she doesn't think things can get much worse. Then she's taken to another room where all of her information is taken down, but there's no finger-printing or mug-shots or anything like that. She's left alone in that room for what seems like ten years but is actually twenty-three minutes according to the annoyingly ticking clock on the wall. Then the officer comes back in and brings her into another room with a telephone and tells her to call her parents.

Rachel stares at the phone for several moments, looking at it just like it's the enemy it really is at the moment. She doesn't want to make this phone call, but she's being watched impatiently, so she finally picks it up and dials the house number, unable to decide which of her dads she'd rather speak to at the moment. She decides to just take a gamble. It rings five times, and she's almost sure that no one's going to answer. She closes her eyes but opens them just a second later when she hears a voice on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Daddy," she says, and her voice breaks a little bit.

"Rachel? What's wrong? Where are you?"

"Daddy," she tries again, more slowly this time, "I'm in jail, and I need you to come get me."

Well, that's certainly one sentence she never planned on saying in her entire life. And really, jail is the _last _place she ever expected to spend her seventeenth birthday.

So much for fixing it.

… … …

A/N: Dun, dun, dun… Hahaha, oh these kids… Thanks for reading, and reviews are always adored!


	21. Chapter 21

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

It's pretty much over after that.

Rachel's parents let her know in no uncertain terms that she is _not _to have any sort of relationship with Noah Puckerman ever again. Not as a friend, not as a boyfriend… They are classmates, and that is it. She even half-expects them to force her into quitting glee again. They're angrier than she's ever seen them in her whole life. If she thought they were pissed when she was caught sneaking in late, it's nothing compared to their reaction when they have to pick her up from jail.

They do believe her, though, when she tells them she didn't actually _do _anything. It helps that the statements from the witnesses back her up. Believing her, though, doesn't stop the lecture. "_We told you so" _and "_How could you make such bad choices?" _are just a couple of the things that are brought up when they yell at her for approximately fourteen years. They accuse her of being naïve and irresponsible, and they tell her that she _is _to blame because she made the choice to surround herself with "d_elinquents" _and "_directionless hoodlums." _She doesn't know why these words are plural when they say them, and she wonders if they think she's joined some sort of Badass gang or something where everyone just shaves their hair into Mohawks and beats people up for the hell of it. When she tries to defend herself, though, they snap at her to shut up and warn her about her so-called smart mouth. And when she cries, they just roll their eyes and tell her to save it.

Finally, though, when she's pretty sure none of them can take anymore even if they _wanted _to, they order her to go to bed. She shuts herself in her room and cries for a long time. She checks her phone incessantly, praying that he'll call her or text her and tell her that he's home… But he doesn't. She hasn't seen him since they were in the police car together, and she doesn't know what happened to him after that. She's partially terrified that he's actually sitting in a jail cell right now waiting on a judge. While her own 'booking experience' wasn't anything like she expected, she's afraid that his might have been more like the movies. After all, it wasn't _she _who was shoved face down over a squad car and held in place with an elbow between the shoulder blades. Obviously he's more to blame than she is, and all those officers know it. She's worried about him.

He never does call, though. She waits all night until she finally cries herself to sleep. She wakes up and checks her phone first thing, only to find no missed calls. And she can't go check on him because she's lost her new car as quickly as she got it. She doesn't really think it's back at the dealership like her parents keep claiming, but it's definitely at least stashed away at her grandma's or something because it's nowhere in sight. She thinks they're taking this whole punishment thing too far, especially considering the fact that she didn't even _do _anything, but she doesn't even want to imagine the response she'd get if she dared to say this out.

She calms herself by repeating that surely he's got to be out by now. He's probably just on lockdown at home. She doesn't want to call him or text him or anything because she's afraid his mom's got his phone. She's surprised that her own parents haven't taken hers away yet, but for all she knows, they're watching the statement online just _waiting _to catch her going against their orders to stay away from him. At least then they'd have a legitimate reason to punish her instead of the bullshit one they've got now, which really just boils down to her being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

She figures the only thing she can do is wait for him. She needs _him _to call _her. _Mostly, though, she just needs to know that he's okay. Because she's starting to get scared, and all the attempted calming in the world doesn't really quell that.

It's Sunday before her phone rings at all. She's gone the whole weekend without literally seeing or speaking to another soul besides her parents. And they've spent the whole weekend alternating between yelling at her and shooting her disappointed looks, and really, she's not sure she could feel worse. But somehow, she always does.

Her phone rings while she's in her room doing nothing but staring at the ceiling. She doesn't recognize the number, and she answers it warily.

"Did you seriously fucking get arrested?"

"Who is this?" She sits up and wonders if she's hearing things.

"It's Santana, dumbass. Did you get arrested?"

Nope. Not hearing things… Rachel sighs loudly. "How did you get my number?"

"I looked it up in the Loser Pages. What the fuck does it _matter _how I got your number?"

"Because I didn't give it to you."

"You are legit psycho. Now answer my damn question."

Rachel sighs again, annoyed and she's not even sure why. But it's seriously as though Santana and Puck just inhabit each other's bodies. Or maybe they're just one soul split up into half-girl/half-boy. It's ridiculous. She can literally hear these exact same words coming out of his mouth, and it makes her insane.

"Yes," she finally says, not bothering to sugar-coat or lie when she answers the original question.

And Santana laughs on the other end, but it's not one of her mean laughs. It's more disbelief. "Holy fucking _shit, _Rachel! What the hell did you get yourself into it?"

Rachel rolls her eyes like Santana can see. "It's not funny. Why are you even calling me?"

"Because Puck won't answer his phone, and I needed to know if this shit on the Internet was true."

And Rachel cringes at her answer. "It's on the Internet?"

"Oh, yeah." Santana just sounds so blasé about the whole thing as she carries on. "It's on that loser dude's blog… On Facebook… Twitter… MySpace… And I got like fourteen texts about it."

"Great."

"You're like totally famous now, Rachel!" Santana laughs again. "Isn't that what you always wanted?"

"Yeah. I always wanted to be known as _that chick who got arrested." _She glares in the direction of her wall.

"So what happened? Did Puck seriously kick Damon Lowell's ass?"

"Yes." Rachel has no idea why she's even humoring this conversation.

"Sweet! I hate that fucking kid. He's such a douche. _And _his dick is like two inches long."

Rachel stares at nothing, completely confused as to why _this _moment in her life is actually happening. She has never had a conversation with Santana that's lasted more than two sentences. She has certainly never had a _civil _conversation with her. And now Santana's blabbing away like she never tried to ruin Rachel's life. On multiple occasions.

Still… Rachel can't help asking, "How do you know?"

And she hears a snort from the other end. "Oh my god, because he like tried to fuck me one night at Darren McCullough's birthday party. But then I saw that, and I was like… what the fuck is that? Because seriously? Ew. And I was like, um, no thanks, why don't you put that little thing away or like go fuck your little sister's Barbie with it because _please."_

Rachel blinks. Because she has _nothing _to say to that. "Oh."

"Yeah… Fuck," Santana's voice rises slightly. "Did you know Quinn got kicked out again? Because her dad came back?"

"Yeah." Rachel still doesn't know what to think about that situation, and she's sort of trying to pretend like it never happened.

"That's so fucked up. I mean, like seriously? How can you treat your own fucking kid like that?" Rachel opens her mouth to reply, but she doesn't get the chance. "I mean, Quinn's like a total bitch half the time, but whatever, she doesn't deserve that kind of shit. And her dad's a total asshole and her mom's just some pill-popping Stepford who hasn't had a meal _not _made of total liquid in like ten fucking years or something. It's just crazy."

"Yeah, it's sad." Rachel has little to contribute to the conversation and is still confused as to why she's involved in the first place. Oddly, though, she's a little fascinated by it.

"So did she come crying to Puck?"

Rachel tenses a little bit, unsure if she should answer that question or not. "She called him," she finally says. "He went to help her move back in with Mercedes."

"At least you don't have to worry about them fucking or whatever."

"Excuse me?"

"Puck and Quinn." She can _hear _the eye roll. "Quinn's way back on the chastity shit, total fucking born again virgin and all that crap. Whatever."

Rachel doesn't say anything. What are you supposed to say, really, when the person who's done nothing but try to sabotage your life left and right starts randomly gossiping like the two of you've been BFFs for ages? Rachel doesn't know, so she just says nothing.

Luckily, it seems as though Santana is one of those people who doesn't care if other people respond, as long as she gets to hear her own voice. "But like I don't think they ever really liked each other that much to begin with, so yeah. I mean, it's not like they're into it or anything."

Rachel doesn't even know what Santana's talking about by this point. Her head hurts trying to process it. "Santana, why are you even talking to me?" she asks bluntly. "Don't you hate me?"

"I'm bored. It's Sunday, and there's nothing to do. And I hate everyone, Rachel. Figure that out already."

Another sigh is all the response Rachel can muster.

"So what's up with Puck?" Santana asks, barely waiting a second. "He's not answering his phone, and I've called him like seventy fucking times."

"Maybe he doesn't want to talk to you." Rachel isn't sure where that comes from, but she is amused that her subconscious is so sarcastic (and maybe bitter).

Santana, though, just laughs. "Yeah, fucking right. He might be your boyfriend, or whatever the hell you two are. Gross. But yeah, whatever. But he's still my boy."

Rachel is reminded distinctly of the time he told her that Santana wasn't his girlfriend, she was just his _girl. _She still doesn't know what that means, but maybe he's been right all along. She doesn't _need _to understand it because apparently he and Santana get it just perfectly.

"He answers the phone when I fucking call," Santana says without hesitation. "So I'm assuming he's either dead or still in jail."

"Or grounded," Rachel muses.

"Yeah, maybe. But he's always pretty good at stealing his phone back when his mom takes it."

"I don't know," Rachel says honestly. "I haven't seen or heard from him since they took us to the police station. They split us up, and I don't know what happened after that."

"And you haven't gone looking for him?"

"_I'm _grounded."

"Jesus, Rachel. Don't you know how to fucking sneak out of your own house? It's almost creepy how weird you are."

"Oh, thanks."

"Whatever. Look, I'm not going over there. His mom hates me and always like looks at me like she wants to kill me or something. But _you're_ supposed to be his damn girlfriend, you need to go make sure he's okay."

"I don't even know if I _am _his girlfriend." Rachel wants to shove a sock into her mouth or something to make herself shut up. She should not be having _any _conversation with Santana- especially _this _one.

Santana doesn't even seem fazed, though. "You're the closest thing he's got. He's sure the hell not fucking anybody else. So that means it's _your _responsibility."

"I'm not sneaking out," Rachel says flatly. "I'm already in too much trouble." She leaves out the part where she's been forbidden from seeing him in any capacity.

"God, you're such a pussy. Grow some balls, Rachel."

Rachel hates that expression. It's so crass and disgusting. Still, there's a part of her that knows Santana is right. She _does _need to find out what's going on. She at least needs to make sure that he's alright. She's worried about him, and she wants to know that he's okay and that he's not rotting away in some jail cell just because he hit some douchebag a couple of times (okay, a _lot _of times. And hard). But she still has to consider herself as well. If she sneaks over there and gets caught, she can't even imagine what her dads will do. They're already furious and fuming beyond any sort of anger she's ever witnessed with them before. She doesn't want to add fuel to the fire. But she just needs to _know._

The next morning, her dad goes to work resolving the "issue." He calls in a favor to the DA's office and manages to get everything taken care of. She's not surprised because she knew he wasn't going to let her get in trouble over something she didn't even do. Even if she _had _done something, she's sure that he could have worked some magic, called in some favors, and managed to make it all disappear. He might be extremely upset with her, but he's not going to let her get into pointless legal drama. After all, there are _some _pluses to being the daughter of a relatively well-known lawyer.

What _does _surprise her, though, is that he doesn't just take care of _her _issues, he also manages to render the entire event as just a big mix-up. After he cases in his favor, _no one's _getting charged with anything. Not her. Not Damon Lowell. And not Puck. Secretly, she wishes her dad would have just left Lowell out of the whole and let charges be pressed against him. She knows, though, that it would be impossible to charge Lowell without charging Puck as well. So she doesn't question it.

She isn't sure why, exactly, her dad decides to offer his assistance for the other people involved, but she guesses that it's probably just easier all around if the entire thing is brushed aside. That way, it can all just be ignored and almost like it never happened in the first place. It's also good because it at least keeps Puck out of trouble. He already has a vandalism conviction on his record from when he was fourteen and got caught using his neighbor's basement windows and a large rock for pitching practice. She's pretty sure you don't just get a slap on the wrist your second time around, but obviously she doesn't know firsthand.

When her dad comes home early from work to tell her all this, Rachel sits at the kitchen table and nods silently. She knows better than to even attempt interjecting any of her own words, given the fact that she'll just be accused of back-talking. They are treating her like a seven year old instead of a seventeen year old, and while she knows that she _does _sort of deserve it, given the fact that she got _arrested… _She keeps going over and over the fact that she _didn't do anything._

And when she starts crying, she doesn't even really know what the tears are about. She's been emotional all weekend, but she hasn't really cried since Friday night when she first got home. Sitting in her kitchen Monday afternoon, though, the tears come back and start sliding down her cheeks without warning. Her dad looks at her sternly, obviously trying to discern whether or not the tears are just a ploy for sympathy. They're not, though. In fact, she'd give anything if they'd just stop right now.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, feeling ashamed and worse about herself than maybe she's ever felt. "I didn't mean for all this to happen…"

The stern look fades a little bit, and he nods. "I know," he says, his voice less hostile than lately but still not normal. "But you need to learn from this and realize that the choices you make and the people you surround yourself really _do _matter."

She hates that they keep saying that- like he's some sort of evil person or something. She _knows _he does some bad things, but that doesn't mean _he's _bad. He's _not, _and no one else in the world seems to realize that. She doesn't even think _he _realizes it. That's one of the most infuriating things about him actually- he believes all of his own hype. Some of it's true. The sex god stuff is true, and she's not going to even try denying that. The fact that he knows the validity of it so well is annoying because it makes him cocky and annoying to a fault. Still… It's true. It's not like she has a ton to compare him to, of course, but something in her knows that he's always going to be the one she compares everyone else to for the rest of her life… And she doesn't think you're really supposed to meet that person when you're in _high school. _There are other parts of his hype that are true, too. The badass part is true. She likes that aspect on some occasions and hates it on others. He'll do just about anything and not give a second thought to any of it. He is a definite act now, think later sort of person, and she's not sure that will ever change. But then there are parts of the hype that are just lies. The most obvious part being that he's too much of a fuck up to ever make anything of himself. She thinks he probably believes that, at least on some level. But he's _not. _He's so… _not. _He can be so many things and do anything he wants. He's not stupid, not by a long shot. Maybe he doesn't always apply himself, but the potential that boy has is _phenomenal._

And no one even knows it.

"Is Noah out yet?" she asks, looking up through her tears at her father. She figures he must know what's going on, given the fact that he's managed to take care of the entire case in one morning.

"Yes, of course," he says dismissively.

"I haven't heard from him…"

"And you're not _going _to," he says without pretense. "I told you to stay away from that boy, and I mean it."

Rachel wants to scream. Literally. She feels like if she could just let out a huge yell, she might feel a little bit better. She doesn't, though. What would be the point?

"And anyway," her dad goes on without waiting, "he's in a shitload of trouble according to his mother."

"You talked to his mom?" The fact that her father has just used _shitload _as a description barely even registers with her.

"I've talked to her several times."

Rachel doesn't want to know what they've been talking about. She can only assume that it won't be anything she wants to hear. She should be happy now that she knows for sure that he's okay and that he's at least not sitting in a jail cell rotting. She's not happy, though. She might even feel worse. If he's out then he's purposely not contacted her. Not that she's done any different, but she's a lot more scared of her parents than he is of his mom. Santana even said that he could steal his phone back whenever he wanted if it was confiscated. But he hasn't. And if he has, he hasn't used it to call her.

She cries a little bit harder and presses her face into her hands, elbows resting firmly against the table.

"Rachel…" Her dad's voice is softer, but she knows he can slip right back into bad cop mode at any second. "Honey, I know you're upset. But you really need to choose your friends better."

"I don't _have _any friends!" she blurts, and it comes out much more hysterically than she means. She doesn't _mean _to say it at all, but it's like the filter on her mouth has suddenly disappeared, and she looks up from her hands with what she knows must be a horribly desperate sort of expression on her face. "Daddy, nobody likes me!"

"Rachel…"

But she just shakes her head, hiccupping on the tears that are still falling from her eyes. "You don't understand," she tells him hopelessly. "He's the only person who likes me…"

"He got you _arrested."_

"Yeah, and do you know why?" She looks away and then back, figuring she has absolutely nothing to lose by this point. "Because some asshole was saying a bunch of crap about _me, _so he hit him. It wasn't just random… And then he was saying all this stuff about Noah's just slumming it with _me, _and he's right, Dad, he is. He _is _slumming it because you don't even understand the difference between him and me."

"What difference?" Her dad looks bothered, and she knows she's probably not making much sense.

"Between _Noah _and me," she says, completely exasperated. "He's _popular, _and I'm _me! _And you don't even know what that _means!"_

"Rachel, you are amazing, and I don't know why anyone wouldn't see that."

And she can't help it. She rolls her eyes. "Of course you don't see it," and she shakes her head almost pityingly. "You don't see it because I'm your daughter, and it's your _job _not to see it, but I'm a _loser. _You don't even know what school's like. It's _awful! _People do things to me… You don't know." She draws in a steadying breath and then loses it when more tears come out. "I hate it. I hate this whole fucking town, and I just want to leave and never come back."

Her dad hugs her then, not bothering to scold her for the language or point out that she never used to speak like that before. He just wraps her up in his arms and turns her in her chair until she can sob right against his chest. And she does. For a really long time. He pets her hair and whispers things to her that she doesn't really hear. He promises that it's all going to be okay, but she's certain he knows better than to think she believes him. He tells her he loves her and that he's sorry. Sorry for what? She doesn't know. Sorry that he's been so mean and dismissive the past few days? Sorry for taking her car away and further ruining her birthday? Sorry for forbidding her from seeing the only friend she has? Or just sorry in general that her whole life is just one big circle of hell?

Finally, after she's cried and cried, he pulls back from her a little bit, and she looks down at her lap, feeling nauseous and sort of like her head might explode. "Honey, people _do _like you," he says gently. "Look at all the friends you have in glee club."

And Rachel actually snorts before rolling her eyes. "Those aren't my friends," she says with no hesitation. "They're the worst."

"But I thought-"

"I got _arrested _on Friday," she says firmly. "And the whole _school _knows. _One _person has called me. One, Dad. And she only called to confirm the story. Nobody gives a crap about me. Even Finn… He told me he _loved_ me…" Her voice breaks and drifts off for a second. "_He _doesn't even care."

"And where is Noah Puckerman in all of this?" His voice is a little sharper than before, and she's sure that has to do with being forced to bring him up and say his name. "You've known him your whole life, and you've never even _mentioned _him until recently. But suddenly he's your best friend, and you can't live without him?"

Rachel, of course, hasn't said or claimed anything close to so dramatic, but she must get it from somewhere. "I didn't _really _know him," she says, exhaling loudly. "Not really. Now I do… Now he's the only person who doesn't treat me like shit…"

"He got you _arrested."_

Rachel just shakes her head. "I know you don't understand," she says quietly. "It doesn't matter because he obviously doesn't care, either." Not if he will just leave her waiting and wondering for three days…

"Rachel."

She shakes her head again. "It doesn't matter," she repeats. "Are we done? I want to take a nap, my head really hurts."

He nods and says nothing.

A lot more than her head hurts, but she doesn't feel like going into all of it. She's pretty sure every inch of her body hurts, inside and out, but her dad doesn't need all the details. She appreciates the fact that he isn't going to hold her hostage in the kitchen and give her another lecture. She's not sure she can take much more before she just explodes.

"Dad?" she asks, just as she moves to get up. "Can you call his mom again and make sure somebody's going to be at Bekah's recital? It's tonight, and she said her mom might have to work…"

"You can go if you want."

Rachel just shakes her head. "No, I don't want to." It's a lie. She feels awful just imagining how hurt Bekah's going to be if nobody shows up. Still, she can't take it right now. She feels guilty because she knows she promised, but she just can't do it.

She leaves her dad then and goes up to her room. She catches sight of the empty leather journal sitting on her dresser, and she sighs quietly. She picks it up without thinking and opens the front cover where she knows a piece of loose paper is tucked. It's the song she sang- the one he wrote. He told her to fix it and make it better, and at the time, she'd thought it was perfect. Choppy and messy but still perfect anyway. Now, though, she thinks it needs more, maybe another verse.

She doesn't know what makes her grab a pencil and open the journal back up to the first page, all crisp and white and just begging to be written on. She glances from it to the loose page and then back again, her mind going into overdrive as, for the first time in her entire life, music just seems to _come _to her. She puts the pencil to the fresh empty page and starts sketching out the music, taking his and adding new bridges to it. Then she expands on his lyrics, adding her own. It's not the happiest song, but that's okay. It makes it easier. She can hear it in her head as she writes it, surprised, no _amazed, _at how easily it seems to flow once she gets started. She can imagine the guitar chords and the lyrics mixing, and she wants to _really _hear it. When she finishes, she reads over the whole thing, humming the tune as she counts out the beat. Then she compares it to his own work and tries to hear them together in her mind.

She can't, though. Not when she has zero luck of ever seeing him again outside of Spanish. It doesn't matter anyway, considering the fact that he's obviously avoiding her. Whatever was there before is over now. It has to be. She's literally been given no _choice, _and it doesn't even seem like he cares.

Her eyes read over and over the music- his then hers then his again.

'_I'll make sure to take you apart before I ever let you break my heart.'_

His words, not hers.

The last sentence in his song, the one sentence that means more than all the rest of their lyrics put together. She doesn't even really know what the song is about. She doesn't know if it's about something real or just conjured. Some shit is just shit after all… Everything doesn't mean something. He said it himself.

Regardless, that line speaks to her. She should have never let him close enough to take anything from her. Now she feels like she's been ripped apart. Her heart… Her heart's been broken for months now, so she can't even make that call.

But now? Now the rest of her feels broken, too.

… … …

A/N: So all the fluff is gone for now… But Santana! Thanks for always reading and reviewing, you guys are awesome!


	22. Chapter 22

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

It's not the first time Puck's been arrested.

In fact, it is the third.

The first time, he was fourteen and decided it would be fun to use his neighbor's basement windows as target practice. Target for what? For throwing huge rocks to be exact. Well, shit, if the douche hadn't been such a bastard and screamed at his little sister for "ruining" his begonias with her bike, he wouldn't have felt the need. But seriously? Bekah was seven. And second, what self-respecting straight man even knows what the hell a begonia _is? _If you're gonna make his sister cry, you better have a fucking better reason than goddamn _begonias. _He got out of that one with twenty-five hours of community service and a warning from the judge to stay out of trouble.

The second time he got arrested, he was at a bonfire with way too many people and way too much alcohol. The fact that none of the many people in attendance were actually old enough to _consume _the alcohol was a big tipoff to the police that showed up after several apparent noise complaints. So every single one of them got taken in and threatened with underage drinking charges. None of those charges actually came about, though, but they were all forced to call their parents and be picked up from jail. Which sucked.

It sucked even _worse _the third time.

In another world, he would have a dad would handle this kind of thing. That's what dads are good for, right? For kicking the asses of their punkass kids who pulled stupid shit and end up in jail? Well, yeah. Ideally. But in the real world, there is no dad. Well, he's assuming that there still _is _a dad- somewhere. He's pretty sure that if the asshole died or something, the police would have to tell them or send them a letter or some shit. He guesses. Well, really, he doesn't know. The motherfucker could really be dead in a ditch somewhere for all he knows. For all he _cares._

But no. Whatever. No dad. What he has is a _mom._

And he loves his mom. Really, he does. He hates watching her cry and hates the bastard who made her cry for years and has hated every other dumbass that's popped in for a few months here and there and left her in tears at the end. None of them ever last too long, and he knows he's probably a big part of that, considering the fact that he's always done his best to purposely be the biggest prick in the history of the world to all the 'boyfriends.' And really, he doesn't need a substitute daddy, and none of those poor bastards want him, either. But it's not like he blames them for that. Because seriously, who wants to deal with some smart-mouthed, snotty kid with a bad attitude when they don't have to? No one apparently. And he's perfectly cool with that.

What he's _not _cool with are the tears because shit, he fucking hates it when his mom cries.

Most of all, though, he hates when she cries over _him. _He doesn't do shit on purpose just to make her cry, but that's a pretty common reaction to some of his more dumbass moves. He has a lot of those, though, so it's not that unusual. Sometimes she just gets pissed and yells, and sometimes she needs to make a point so she starts taking shit away. Sometimes, she just cries. And that's the worst, really. She cried the first time he got arrested. She cried the fourth time he got suspended and was threatened with expulsion. She cried when he told her about Quinn. She cried when _he _cried _after _Quinn… And she cried when she was forced to wake his sister up and put her in the car at 3:30 in the morning to drive across town and pick him up from jail for a third time.

She wasn't just sad, though. She was really pissed, too. It was weird because she was usually one or the other. It seemed, though, like she just hit a breaking point and that's why the tears showed up. But underneath it all, she was pissed as hell and wasn't shy at all about telling him.

She screamed at him for so long that he almost fell asleep. He didn't, though, which is probably lucky because if he'd fall asleep when his mom was yelling like _that, _he probably would have woken up in the hospital or something. He didn't really hear her, though, when she was yelling. He wasn't in the mood to listen, and he was tired and pissed and just wanted to go to bed. So he just sat there and let her scream for however long she needed to before she snapped at him to go to bed. And he went, knowing that this so wasn't over and that he'd be getting it again as soon as he got up the next morning. He was too tired to care, though. He didn't even give a shit when she followed him up to his room and started grabbing his xBox and his laptop and all the cords from his TV. She grabbed his phone, too, and if she wasn't trying to kill him with obvious boredom, he might have offered to help her carry some of it since it looked pretty damn difficult. But whatever, he's not down with condoning murder and shit.

He was right about her yelling the next morning. Hell, she's been screaming ever since Friday. She'll scream, and then she'll cry. Then she'll go on some spill about how he needs a male role model, and he'll roll his eyes or mutter the word _bullshit_, and then she'll start the whole process over again. It's starting to get fucking old, but he knows better than to tell her this. So basically, he just lets her do whatever she feels like she needs to do. And when she starts in on the whole 'role model' thing, he really has to bite his tongue hard to stop at the eye rolling and the _bullshits. _Because seriously? Her saying some shit like, "_I just don't think you'd be doing all this if your dad was around," _is possibly the most hilarious (and by hilarious, obviously he means _fucked the fuck up) _thing up she could say.

See, here's the thing about his dad. His dad is worthless. He's a piece of shit, and they're all better off now that he's fucked off for good and stays the fuck away. It's not just that he's a worthless piece of shit, though, he's also kind of evil. Like, he drinks too much and then turns really fucking mean. He was in and out of jail all the time, never for like extended amounts of time or whatever, but he spent plenty of nights there. He was always getting in trouble for shit, usually something to do with too much alcohol and public drunkenness. And even when he was just a little kid, Puck knew that shit wasn't cool. So it's not like he's _surprised _that his mom seems to be having flashbacks when she has to pick him up at the police station, but it's not like that. _He's _not like that. Not anything like that asshole.

His mom isn't happy that he got arrested, but she _hates _that he got arrested for fighting. Now, he's not a doctor or anything close, and the only way he passed psychology was by talking (_fucking_) this smart girl, Ally Henson, into writing his final paper. But he knows, or is at least pretty sure, that his mom hates it so much because his dad liked fighting, too. He always liked hitting things- like random people in bars and not-so-random people in his house.

Yeah, his dad hit his mom. Not like a _lot, _not every day or anything, but it happened. And he saw it. Sometimes his dad hit him, too, but usually never when his mom was around. If his mom was around, she'd stop it, but she worked a lot. A _lot. _And that's when he first got really good at hiding shit from his mom.

The very first time he ever knew for sure that he was a total badass, he was seven years old. His mom was pregnant and working double shifts, and he was stuck at home with his dad who was never in too much of a good mood knowing there was going to be a second kid around soon enough. And looking back, Puck can't really even remember what he said that pissed his dad off so much, but he's always had a smart mouth, so it probably w_as _something stupid. He didn't heed the first warning he got and obviously kept talking because the whole thing ended up with his mouth getting busted, like he literally swallowed blood. But he didn't cry. Not even a single fucking tear. He just glared back, and when his mom got home and asked him what happened to his lip, he told her he fell off his bike. He was a rough kid, bruises and busted lips weren't that unusual for him. So it was easy to always have a cover whenever it happened. He never told his mom about it. He never told her about any of the other times after that, either, all the other times he didn't fucking cry and just looked back defiantly and took whatever the hell his dad had pent up inside him on any given day. Anyway, the more his dad hit him, the less chance there was that he'd be pissed off and hit his mom or, hell no, his little sister. And that bastard's lucky he never _did _touch Bekah because Puck's pretty sure he might have killed him. One time he screamed at her, though, and made her cry when she was just like three years old, and Puck calmed her down and put her in her room to play and then came back screaming on his own. And he got smacked, of course, but that's the one time he decided to hit back. Not like it did any damage, of course, because he was _ten _and he ended up getting his ass kicked _real _good after that, but at least he made his fucking point.

But his mom never knew about any of that shit, and she still doesn't. She'd just start crying if she ever found out or feel guilty or some shit for something she didn't even do. So she's not ever going to find out. It doesn't fucking matter anyway because all that's in the past. That bastard's in the past, and it's over. And they're all better off for it.

And just because he's been in jail a few times and likes to hit stupid assholes doesn't mean he's anything like his dad. At all. And his mom needs to fucking realize that and stop freaking out.

On Monday night, she stops yelling and crying long enough to force him into attending Bekah's music recital. And really, _force _is a strong word because brat or not, Bek's his sister, and it's not like he doesn't want to see her be awesome and shit. He's kind of surprised his mom's telling him to go because he's been 'grounded indefinitely,' but apparently that particular house arrest assignment doesn't apply when it comes to doing shit for his sister. So he goes with his mom and sits through the concert (and it's really fucking boring, but whatever, Bekah's good), and then his mom gets called into work just before the finale and he's stuck on babysitting duty for the rest of the night.

It's Christmas break, so it's not like there's school in the morning or anything, and his mom's goin to be at work all night. So Puck pretty much tells Bekah she can do whatever she wants and stay up as late as she wants, too. He thinks about watching some TV downstairs but doesn't trust his sister with that kind of blackmail material, since he's definitely been forbidden from any of that kind of shit. And not like he really gives too much of a shit, but he doesn't really think he's going to accomplish anything by pissing his mom off even _more._

He goes upstairs to his room and lays down, already bored out of his fucking mind. But whatever. Being grounded during break is the _worst _because not only is he missing out on like every fun thing in the world, he's also stuck at home _all day. _He can't even go to school and get a little break. And when he's pissed about _not _going to school, there's a big damn problem.

He lies on his bed staring up at the ceiling doing absolutely nothing for like… a long fucking time. He can hear Bekah down the hall in her room, and he wonders what she thinks about all this. He hates being a shitty ass role model, but it's like sometimes he can't even help it. Shit just _happens. _It's not like he goes out and _tries _to get in trouble- well, not most days. But shit, trouble just seems to find him. Like even when he's not even being serious… it still manages to find him.

Like that one day in eighth grade when he and Mike were fucking up some science project they were supposed to be working on. That was before they knew to pick smart people as their lab partners and just picked their friends. Except neither one of them was that great at science, so the whole thing was kind of a disaster. And he totally in jest(jest? See, he's not a total dumbass), said to Mike, _"If you weren't such a shitty Asian, we could figure this out. I thought you guys were supposed to be smart." _And Mike totally in jest_, _said back, "_Fuck you, asshole, so are Jews." _And Mrs. Miner overheard them somehow (seriously? Bitch was like eighty and deaf, so he still doesn't know how that happened) and sent them both to the principal for being "_racially insensitive."_ And then they got like three weeks of detention _and _had to have 'minority sensitivity training' sessions with the guidance counselor once a week for two months. And then, worst of all, Santana totally wouldn't even let him feel her up for like a month after that because she told him, _"No racist asshole is going to objectify _me." He should have known then. Because for real, any thirteen year old who uses the word 'objectify' and uses it _right _is inevitably going to be a total bitch.

But seriously, that's the kind of shit that happens to him. Like all the fucking time. It would be funny if it didn't suck so much.

And okay, yeah, so maybe sometimes that shit's funny anyway. Like those minority sensitivity workshops were like maybe the funniest meetings ever until one night in ninth grade when Santana sucked him off in Quinn's third floor bathroom during a chastity club meeting. That was fucking hilarious. Then they spent the next half hour cracking up about it and smoking the last of his pot and making fun of pretty much everyone else at that meeting. And when they went back downstairs and Quinn looked at them hatefully and demanded to know where they'd been, Santana put a dead ass serious look on her face and quietly whispered to Quinn that she'd been trying to teach him about Jesus and had been praying with him. _"I stayed on my knees the whole time." _And that shit right there is why sometimes Santana is the most awesome chick in the world. Because she can be really fucking funny and is like a total dude stuck in a hot girl's body. But yeah, she's also evil and totally batshit, so you have to take the balance.

"Are you asleep?" He's drawn away from memory lane by the voice on the other side of the door.

"No."

Bekah opens the door and looks at him. "I'm bored."

He wants to tell her she doesn't even know what boredom is until she's been in his shoes, but he doesn't because he doesn't want her to ever fucking _be _in his shoes. Instead, he just stares at the ceiling and says, "Me, too."

She moves across the room and climbs onto his bed, rolling onto her back beside him and looking up. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing."

Bekah doesn't say anything for a minute. She just lies there with him, and they both stare at the nothingness of the ceiling. Finally, she attempts another form of conversation. "Did you like my show?"

"Yeah, it was good." It's pretty much a lie because he pretty much wanted to blow his brains out ninety percent of the time, but he's not going to tell her that.

"Rachel didn't come. She said she would."

He blinks and doesn't answer right away. "I think she's sick," he lies. It's pointless, though, because his sister's not stupid.

"Mom said she's in trouble."

"Yeah, maybe." He tries not to let on that he's concerned at all. He doesn't want Bekah freaking out over this bullshit. But he _knows _Rachel's in trouble because his mom has told him fifty times. And if he didn't already feel enough like a piece of shit bastard, knowing that he's got her in so much shit is just the icing on the cake.

He tries not to think about it too much. When he thinks about it, he just feels worse and worse. And shit, he already feels pretty fucking terrible. Rachel in handcuffs is not something he ever thought he'd really see, and if he ever thought about it _(shut up), _it sure as hell wasn't in police cuffs. And he doesn't like remembering the way she looked so scared and devastated, and he doesn't like remembering the way she sounded when she was crying. It's all very fucked up, and none of it's fair. And if he could just go back and change it, he totally would.

He doesn't know _what _exactly he'd change, though.

He doesn't think he could ever just walk away from a fight when some douchebag's talking that much shit. And Damon fucking Lowell can talk a lot of damn shit. And yeah, he knows he should have just walked away, but hearing someone say something about _"fucking that freak with the fag fathers" _just made him snap, and he like legit blacked out in rage. So maybe he couldn't change that even if he tried.

He could go back to September, though, and change all that. He could probably kick Rachel out of his room the second she started talking crazy and _definitely _the second she started crying. He could tell her to just go back to Finn and forget it, and maybe he could really mean it if he tried hard enough. At least he could make it sound more convincing. He could never kiss her, never touch her, never _ever_ let her get in his fucking head… Yeah, September's probably the best place to start. Or maybe even _last _fall. He could stop looking for signs from God and just jerk off to his dreams instead of trying to like actually make them happen. That might be an even better place to start.

But it doesn't matter because he doesn't have a time machine, and he's not Harry fucking Potter or some shit and can just wave a magic wand and make things never happen.

"Are you gonna go to jail?" Bekah's question shocks him enough to make him turn his head to the left and stare at her. She's looking at him, too, and she looks worried enough to make him feel even worse.

"No," he says firmly, believing it only because his mom's already told him that Rachel's dad managed to make the whole thing disappear and that he should be thanking his lucky stars.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"I don't want you to go to jail." Bekah sounds scared and sad. "Then I'll be all by myself…"

"I'm not going to jail, Bek, _shit." _He looks at her with narrowed eyes, but really he feels as horrible as he's ever felt.

"Promise?"

"Swear." He stares at her, trying to convince her. And maybe she believes him even though she still looks depressed. And all he can think about is how _fucked up _it is that this kid only has _him _to look up to. Because he's just about the shittiest role model he can imagine. "Don't ever do this shit," he tells her seriously.

"What shit?"

"Any of this. Just…" He doesn't even know what he's trying to say. "Just don't be this stupid."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't be like me," he finally just says it point blank. "Don't get in trouble and be a dumbass and… Just be the good one, okay? And like just… Be good."

He wants to say… Don't get arrested, don't get suspended, don't fuck everyone your best friend wants to fuck, don't be an asshole, don't make Mom cry, don't fuck off in school, don't drink, don't do drugs, don't be a slut, don't be a jackass and throw slushies on people, don't let your life turn into a really shitty episode of _Sixteen and Pregnant…_

But _be good _sums it up okay.

Bekah blinks a few times and stares at him. And then she rolls onto her side, wraps her arms around him, and hugs him. And he lets her lay there and moves a hand to the top of her head and lets it sit there in her hair. And then they both fall asleep, and he only wakes up in the morning when he hears his mom opening his door. He watches her through the tiny slits in his eyes, but he can see that she smiles a little bit before she leaves again without trying to get them up. And at least that tiny little smile is better than the tears.

Two days later, Quinn shows up at his house.

He only knows she's there because he looks out his window when the doorbell rings. And he knows his mom must be telling her to go away because he can see her walking back across his driveway and climbing back into Mercedes's car. He doesn't know why she's at his house, and fuck, he really doesn't want to know. He can't deal with that shit right now. Can't deal with Quinn.

It seems weird to think it's only been a little over a week since she called him crying with the news that she was getting kicked out again. And he did what he thought he had to do, he went over to her house to help. And yeah, he wasn't really surprised that her dad threatened to murder him. He did a good job of ignoring him, though- somehow he could ignore _that… _But he helped Quinn get her shit and threw it in his truck and drove her around town until they could figure out what to do.

And she cried the whole time. She cried the whole time they were packing up her stuff, the whole time they were just driving around, and the whole time she was on the phone with Mercedes. And he didn't really do anything at all. He just sort of sat in the driver's seat and said nothing, just thankful that she didn't even _ask _if she could stay with him.

But seriously? What was he _supposed _to say? Shit's weird between him and Quinn. It has been for months. It's not like they're friends or anything. They're not _enemies, _but they just don't talk. There's too much… _something _there, and neither one of them has any desire to deal with it. So the just coexist and carefully avoid each other. But sitting there with her in his truck while she was in tears and miserable… It was hard to just coexist.

They were parked outside Walmart because it was there and it was close, and it's not like it mattered. They couldn't just go to his house or something because his mom didn't need to know about all this. So they were just sitting there, and Quinn finally hung up after talking to Mercedes for what seemed like a fucking hour. And there wasn't much to say because her tears were pretty much filling up all the noise.

But then she started talking anyway.

"_He wouldn't have kicked me out if I still had the baby. I know he wouldn't… He wouldn't kick a baby out."_

And bullshit. Really _bullshit. _But whatever. Puck just shrugged and didn't say anything.

"_What if we were supposed to keep her?"_

And that was it because he for real couldn't take that shit. That baby's been on his mind nonstop since the first minute he found out she was pregnant. Way more so after he actually _saw _her and was forced to sign his name to some contract that gave her away forever. And that wasn't his fucking choice. He didn't want to do it. But it wasn't his choice, and everyone told him that- Quinn told him that, his mom told him that… So what else was he supposed to do except sign the damn papers and give his little girl away to some woman who never even wanted her own little girl?

_Fuck._

But he couldn't deal with Quinn suddenly having second thoughts about it just because her dad was an asshole. Well, so the fuck what? Lots of people have asshole dads, but that doesn't mean they can just go bringing up innocent babies they gave away and use them as fucking pawns in an attempt to make their daddies love them again. And that's what pissed him off. And that's why he was literally grinding his teeth when Quinn kept opening her fucking mouth and talking.

"_Did you mean it when you said you loved me?"_

No. No, he didn't mean it. Not like he was supposed to mean it anyway. Maybe he loved her because she had his kid, but she also gave his kid away. And maybe in that one second when he said he did, he was trying to hold onto the tiniest bit of hope that she was going to change her mind. But she didn't change her mind. And he's been trying to forget about it ever since.

"_Yes."_

Liar. Fucking lying asshole. There was nothing else to do, though. Lie and keep things the same? Or tell the truth and make them so much worse?

But Quinn was fucking all over him after that. She was clinging to him and crying more hysterically than before. And he didn't know what to do, so he patted her head awkwardly and focused on keeping his mouth closed so that he didn't open it and shout for her to get the fuck away from him. And she was saying a bunch of shit about how he was a really good guy and how she didn't give him an opportunity and how she was sorry she didn't try harder and how maybe they needed a second chance. And _what? _

"_Quinn, I'm dating Rachel."_

And that was the first time he ever actually said it out loud. But Quinn just shook her head and buried her face further into his chest as she clung even tighter, mumbling, _"Yeah, but that's not for real…"_

He didn't respond to that. He didn't tell her that yes, it was for fucking real. He didn't tell her she looked like a desperate whore clinging to him like that. He didn't tell her to leave him alone or anything. He just didn't say anything.

And later that night, when he finally dropped her off at the Joneses, he went back to Rachel's house, feeling guilty as hell that he just let it go like that. And he didn't even realize how late it was until Rachel was opening the door half-asleep, and he was following her up to her room. And then when he was lying with her and smelling her hair, all he wanted to do was hold her and just sleep. And when he felt guilty for not defending all of that to Quinn, he just pulled her tighter, needing to prove to himself that she _was _fucking real.

And he hasn't talked to Quinn since. He doesn't really want to. It's not like he really thinks she was serious or anything because she was like totally fucked up when she said it. But still, it pisses him off, and he's not willing to be fucked around by her now that he doesn't have to be. And fuck her anyway, she doesn't know anything about _real._

His mom's knocking on his door, and he lets her in. She looks tired, but he just pretends not to notice and sits down.

"That was Quinn."

He nods, no point in saying anything.

"I told her to leave."

"Yeah."

"She told me she's not at home anymore." His mom is staring at him, and he has a feeling she's waiting for him to say something epic. He doesn't know what she fucking expects.

"Her dad kicked her out again."

"You didn't tell me that."

He shrugs. Why _would_ he tell her that? She hates Quinn. And it's not her problem anymore anyway.

"Does she have a place to stay?"

He nods. He doesn't know what all this is about, and he doesn't want to think about it. He is so sick of Quinn fucking ruling his life.

"Have you talked to Rachel's dad anymore?" He doesn't know why he asks it, but he wants to get off the Quinn subject and it's the first thing that jumps in his head. When he asks it, though, his mom's face gets a little bit darker, and she shakes her head.

"Not since Monday. Why?"

He lifts his shoulder dismissively. "I was just wondering how she was," he says quietly.

"Leave her _alone, _Noah." And his mom sounds legitimately serious. He's already heard it, but it still fucks with his head. He knows all about how much trouble she's in and how his mom promised her parents that she'd keep him away from her. And all that bullshit.

"I was just _wondering," _and he can't help how snappy he sounds. "I _am _leaving her alone."

He knows her dads don't want him around, and it's not like he fucking blames them. He's pretty sure Rachel would never have even gotten _close _to jail if it wasn't for him. Considering the fact that she's pretty much a fucking goody two shoes who never gets in any kind of trouble at all. So he's not shocked that her dads don't want her stuck in that.

That doesn't mean he can't fucking wonder if she's okay.

Or like… miss her or something.

"I am sure she's fine," his mom says firmly. "And if you want her to stay that way, you'll just stay away from her."

He wants to throw something, but he doesn't. He just stares at the wall and says nothing.

"Don't mess up that girl's life." He doesn't want to hear this. He tries to just block it out so that he doesn't have to listen, but it doesn't work. He can still hear his mom telling him the same thing she's told him over and over. "Rachel is really going to go somewhere. And if you don't have plans to do the same thing, you need to leave her alone. Don't drag her down just because you refuse to make anything of _yourself."_

This shit's all new. His mom has been disappointed in him and pissed off at him plenty of times, but she's always at least _thought _he had the potential to actually _be _something. Now it's just like she's given up on him. She might as well just come out and say, _"She's too good for you, Noah," _because it's obviously what she really means.

But what the hell _is_ Rachel Berry if she's not too fucking good for him?

Shit, anybody with fucking _eyes _can see that. Rachel's too good for this whole fucking _town. _She probably always has been. It just sucks that when he finally figures it out, he's already fucked up his shot.

But he's not going to fuck up _hers. _He likes her. Really _likes _her. Sometimes in a way that freaks him out. And sometimes in a way that makes him act like an idiot. But that doesn't fucking matter when she's the most perfect, talented girl on the planet, and he's some jackass loser who's either gonna end up in prison or working in a factory in Ohio for the rest of his life. He might be an asshole by nature, but he's not going to screw up her chance.

Because he's not stupid. He already knows that one unspoken sentence is all the proof he needs. She's not ever going to be his. And he has to stay away from her.

Because… _"She's too good for you, Noah."_

… … …

A/N: I couldn't decide whether to write this or not. I didn't want to really leave Rachel again, and especially not as anymore than just an inner-monologue type piece like the last time. But then I really wanted to write it… And I feel like this is the way to answer the questions people have- what Lowell said, what happened with Quinn, why he's avoiding Rachel… Because Rachel is never going to find out most of those things.

So I hope this wasn't too weird. I hope it cleared up some questions. And I hope people liked it anyway. Thoughts?


	23. Chapter 23

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

Eventually, her parents stop yelling at her.

Rachel's glad, and she's pretty sure they are, too, because it's the first time they've ever really had to go full-out pissed off parenting on her for any significant amount of time. It just tapers off, and honestly, it doesn't last that long. A few days really. After her emotional outburst at the kitchen table, they both seem to back off quite a bit.

She still can't believe she came out and said all that, and she really wishes she could go back and _not _say it. Even if that meant she'd be subjected to tons more screaming and unfair punishments, at least that would be preferable to the way her parents now seem to feel _sorry _for her. And she didn't do it for sympathy, she really didn't. It just felt like everything that had been building up inside of her for God only knows how long just came bursting out all at once. Like it all just hit a limit, and that was that.

She's never been very open with them about her school life. She's never really outright lied, but she stopped telling them about the bullying years ago. She knew, like any twelve year old with a brain knows, that when parents get involved with school issues, it just makes things worse. So she kept quiet about it, joined as many clubs as possible, and apparently did a very good job of pretending that she _wasn't _totally miserable for many years.

Now, of course, they know that's all bullshit, and they're starting to pry.

She's not going to tell them, though. She's not going to give them any details about the things that go on or _have _gone on at school. She doesn't want them worrying, but mostly she just doesn't want them interfering. Besides, it's not even worth it. She's dealt with it her whole life, she knows she can stick it out for another year and a half. At least she really hopes she can.

She puts on her best showface, though, and does her absolute best to convince her dads that it's really not that bad and that she was just overly emotional that day. She knows all the details have been passed back and forth between them and expects that they've probably spent many hours discussing it. She can't really manage a full out smile, but she manages a good, solid _alright _face and plasters it on, letting them know there's no need to worry, and everything is just fine.

Break is very boring, though. She's still grounded, so it's not like she has a lot of options for things to do or places to go. She spends a lot of time studying and even more time trying to write more music. She's surprised at what an easy a release it is once she manages to get into it. She's better at the music part than the lyrics, so she spends a lot of time humming to herself until the words come to her. None of it's very good, of course, but it's a start. She finds it easiest to write for the piano, since that's what she knows, but she tries her hand at some guitar, too, wondering how it would really actually _sound._

She doesn't hear from anyone, not that she expects to. She thinks maybe Finn might call and check on her, but he never does. She doesn't know what to make of that, so she does her best not to think about it. Tina texts her once and asks if she's okay, and when she texts back a simple, _"Yes," _that's as far as the conversation goes. Santana calls her, though. Several more times, in fact. And that's really weird because while she's not as totally outright _mean _as usual, she's never overly nice, either. She always asks the same things- has she talked to Puck, does she know how Puck is, is Puck grounded… And Rachel always gives her the same answers… No, No, I guess.

She asks her why she doesn't go over herself is she's so concerned, and Santana gives her the same answer she did the first time. "His mom fucking hates me."

On Christmas Eve, she gets a phone call early in the morning, and she answers it. It's Santana again, and from the sounds of it, she's slurping cereal out of a bowl. "Oh, my god, Quinn went over there yesterday."

Rachel's confused. She's literally _just _woken up, and she hasn't even opened her eyes yet. "Over where?" she mumbles, groggily, wondering what time it is.

"To Puck's. Her and Mercedes went over there."

That gets Rachel's eyes open, and she blinks into the light of her room. "Why did Quinn go over there?" she asks, thinking the tone of her question probably gives too much away but not caring.

"I guess to see if the asshole was dead or something. Since he's said fuck all to _nobody _all damn week."

Rachel doesn't even know what that means, and it hurts her head trying to figure out if 'nobody' is used correctly in that sentence. So she stops thinking about it. "Why does _Quinn _care?"

And she hears a little snicker from the other side of the line. She can just imagine what all Santana's going to read into her question, but she doesn't really care. "He's her baby daddy," Santana says dismissively. "And you know, bitch is nosy as fuck."

Rachel thinks Santana calling someone _else _nosy is pretty funny, but she doesn't say this. "Well, what did she find out?" she asks, unable to put it off any longer.

"That he's alive but like under total house arrest and not allowed to talk to or see anybody."

"So she didn't see him?"

"No, she talked to his mom."

"His mom hates her." Rachel doesn't know why she says this, but it just comes out.

"She hates everyone."

"No, she doesn't." And then Rachel wonders why she's incapable of keeping her mouth closed.

"Yeah, well, of course she doesn't fucking hate _you. _You're like the poster child for who to bring home to mom."

"What does that mean?"

"Oh, my god." Rachel can practically hear the inevitable eye roll. "Miss fucking perfect, straight A, Ultimate Grand Supreme, never been in trouble Rachel Berry."

Rachel can't even find it in herself to be annoyed by Santana's description. After all, she _is _a straight A student, she's never been in real trouble (before now), and the first time she won Ultimate Grand Supreme in a pageant, she was fourteen months old. She's _not _perfect, though, so that part's wrong.

"Shit, Rachel," Santana goes right on, "I'd fucking take you home to _my _parents."

She has no response to that, given the fact that Santana could be halfway serious for all she knows. And all she's _heard. _Regardless, "So did Quinn find anything else out?"

"Nope. She got shut down pretty fast. She said she just saw his mom and talked to her for like one minute. She didn't even see that brat kid, much less Puck."

Rachel feels sad just _thinking _about Bekah, knowing that she broke her promise. She's been wondering how the recital went all week, and it bothers her knowing that she probably hurt Bekah's feelings by not showing up.

"She's not a brat," she defends immediately with no idea _why _really.

"Please," Santana snorts. "That kid like tried to do voodoo on me once, I swear."

"You were probably mean to her."

"Let me guess, _she _adores you, too?" And then there's a sarcastic little laugh. "Aren't you just the perfect fucking fit into the whole damn Puckerman family? It's so sweet, I could puke."

Rachel rolls her eyes, despite the fact that she knows she's on the phone.

"So. You going over there or not?" Santana asks it so bluntly, like they haven't already been through this a million times.

"I already _told _you I can't."

"So, you're just gonna let Quinn move in like that?"

"Move in like what? She went to his house and got told to leave." Rachel can't help how immediately angry she gets at the notion. It makes her feel silly.

"Yeah, when his _mom _was home." The smirk on Santana's face is nearly _audible. _"His mom works a _lot, _Rachel. And Quinn knows that."

Rachel tells herself not to buy into it. She knows that Santana is probably just saying these things because she's bored and in the mood to manipulate someone. Still, there's a nagging at the back of her head that won't go away. "Two days ago, you told me I didn't have anything to worry about with those two," she points out defiantly.

"Whatever. It's your life. Your boyfriend, right? Not mine. I'm just saying, I wouldn't let Quinn around _my _man."

"I don't…" Her voice trails off because she can't think of anything coherent to say. She hates being trapped so easily.

"Look," Santana says flatly. "Quinn is a total stuck up bitch, but fucking _look _at her. I mean, fucking like deer and birds and shit sing on her shoulders when she wakes up in the morning. She's probably got mice that like make her clothes and shit, sweatshop style."

Rachel sighs loudly.

"And yeah, I mean, they're probably not fucking. Because Quinn totally wants to pretend like last year never happened, so the last thing she's gonna do is like go back on her chastity shit and fall back into bed with the dude who got her into all that shit in the first place. _But _she's _clearly _still caught up in him at least some way. Otherwise, why would she even waste her time? And seriously? Puck gets bored easily. His ADD is way bad."

"I'm going over there."

Rachel surprises herself when she says it, not realizing her decision until that very second. When she says it, though, she feels like she's known it all along. If he's not coming to her, she's going to him. She wants to know what's going on, and she wants to see with her own eyes that he's okay. And maybe she also wants to make sure that there is no baby blonde princess in a Cheerios uniform occupying his bed. _Maybe._

"Sweet!" Santana sounds way too excited, and it's a little bit worrisome. "When are you going?"

"I can't go until next week. My dads are home the rest of the week and the weekend because of Christmas."

"I thought you were Jewish?"

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Yeah, but the rest of the town's not, and everything kind of shuts down, you know…"

"Whatever," Santana doesn't seem interested in that. "You have to call me as soon as you find something out. Like for real."

Rachel cannot think of one plausible reason why she would actually do that. Yet, she still hears herself saying, "Okay," and knowing that she will. For some vastly unknown reason.

"I mean it."

"_Okay," _she repeats.

Rachel has this problem. She trusts people too much. She also forgives people too easily. It gets her in trouble a lot, but that's just who she is. She knows beyond all doubt that Santana Lopez is probably the _last _person she should be sharing secrets with, but she's also the only person who's currently speaking to her. So it's sort of a catch twenty-two. She knows better. But that doesn't mean it will stop her.

That weekend is totally uneventful. She spends the whole time with her dads, and they include her in whatever activities they're getting up to. They don't banish her to her room or forbid her from having any sort of entertainment-based stimulation. They spend most of the time on the couch watching movies, and they go out to dinner a few times. They don't really mention the previous week's events at all. Instead, they just treat her like everything's normal. Everything except for the fact that they watch her constantly to make sure she's not having any sort of contact whatsoever with the juvenile delinquent they've currently pegged as Public Enemy Number One.

On Monday, though, they go back to work. There's plenty of end of the year business that needs to be wrapped up, and she couldn't be more eager to see the back of two Lexuses pulling down her road. She still doesn't have a car, and she's not sure she's got any real chance of getting it back anytime soon. According to the lie they're trying very hard to keep up, it's back at the dealership and gone for good. She still doesn't believe that, but she's pretty sure it'll be her _next _birthday before she sees it again.

It doesn't matter. She's in good shape. Four miles is not that far, and she can walk it easily. True, it's about negative three-hundred degrees outside, but she just puts on extra layers and decides to deal with it. This is, of course, a much better plan in pre-thought than in actual execution. It's even colder than she realizes, and she gets about three blocks from her house before she realizes she's got to run or possibly freeze to death. She takes off, pulling her coat more tightly around her and thankful that she had enough foresight to pull on a pair of sneakers.

Surprisingly, she makes it to his house in less than half an hour. All those hours on the treadmill are apparently paying off because, while she's certainly out of breath, she hasn't had to stop once. She slows down when she hits his road, though, turning her run into a walk and scoping his house out. It hasn't occurred to her that she doesn't actually have a plan. She doesn't know what she's going to do if his mom's home- turn around and go back, she supposes. Her calves hurt just _thinking _about it. Luckily, the only vehicle she sees parked in his driveway is a pickup. Meanwhile, she also doesn't see any signs of actual _life _inside the house, but it's barely ten o'clock. For all she knows, he's still knocked out asleep. In fact, she thinks it's a pretty safe bet.

She weighs her options about knocking. She runs a major risk (especially if he's asleep) that Bekah will answer the door. She loves Bekah, but she isn't sure she's a hundred percent trustworthy. Still, she does know that Bekah is generally very loyal to her brother, and Rachel thinks she will probably be just as loyal to her. Hurrying up his driveway, she decides not to think again before reaching out and ringing the doorbell.

She's shivering now that she's at a standstill, and she's starting to realize how stupid it was to make this trip by foot. It's far too cold outside, and she shouldn't be out in it. It's not good for her voice, and it's certainly not good for her ability to, oh, not _freeze to death. _A minute later, though, the door's opening, but it's not Bekah standing on the other side.

"What the fuck, Rachel? What the fuck are you… Get in here."

He grabs her elbow and yanks her into his house, shutting the door behind her and blocking out the freezing air with the warmth of the central heating system in his house. Her teeth are literally chattering, but she can't help the way her eyes rake over him once or twice. She might not have woken him up, but clearly, he's made no effort to get ready for the day, given the fact that he's dressed in nothing but a pair of sweat pants that she assumes he either wore to bed or put on when he woke up. She immediately pushes the thought from her head, knowing that's it's already far too crowded.

"Did you fucking _walk _here?" He's staring at her incredulously, and she shivers some more.

"I ran," she mutters, barely able to get enough solid breath to even make the sounds.

"Are you crazy?" he asks, obviously in disbelief. "It's eight degrees outside! Literally!"

She doesn't say anything, just tugs her coat tighter and focuses on absorbing some of the heat that's now surrounding her. He's standing a little bit too close, so that doesn't hurt.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, and his incredulous tone is gone, replaced with something much quieter. "You're not supposed to be here."

"I wanted to make sure you were okay." She forces the words out, finally warming up just a little bit. "You haven't called me."

She doesn't miss the way his eyes dart away for a split second before they meet hers again. "I'm grounded," he says dully. "I don't have a phone, a computer, nothing."

"Santana says you're always able to steal your phone back if your mom takes it."

She doesn't even realize she's said it until he's staring at her like she's grown a second head. "Santana _what?"_

"Santana says-"

"What the _fuck _are you talking to Santana for?" He's staring at her in shock. "Santana _Lopez?"_

She tries really hard not to make the look on her face so obvious. "Do you know any other Santanas?" she asks bluntly. "Even one? The musician doesn't count."

His mouth is slightly open, and he shakes his head, almost like he's trying to erase whatever is happening in front of him. "Why are you talking to _Santana?" _he asks again.

"We're… kind of friends." Rachel tries to make it more convincing than it really is. It sounds idiotic just saying it. They're not friends. They're just… She doesn't know what they are.

"You and Santana are _not _friends." It's the same thought she's having herself, but it annoys her when he says it. He almost sounds like he's trying to convince himself as much as make a point to her.

"Why not?" she asks defiantly. "She's not that bad."

He laughs, a really humorless laugh. "Not that bad… Why not? Why _not?" _He shakes his head again. "Because that's like fucking _unholy _shit right there, that's why!"

She rolls her eyes. "Thanks for the welcome, by the way," she snaps hatefully, irritated that she's been in his house for a couple of minutes now and he hasn't even told her hello. Much less said or done anything to appreciate the fact that she traveled four miles by foot in the blistering cold. Meanwhile, he's standing there warm as ever with nothing but a pair of _pajama _pants on. Talk about _unholy._

He stares at her, obviously still trying to piece the parts together. He clearly wasn't expecting her, and she knows she's probably thrown him for a major loop with the Santana slip. And it _was _a slip. The last thing she wants him to think is that she and Santana are just sitting around gossiping about him or anything like that. His eyes are locked on hers, and she doesn't know what the look on his face is about.

"Rachel, you're not supposed to be here."

"Why not?" she asks, feeling more than a little defiant.

"Because you're _not," _and his voice sounds extra steely. "And because I'm horny as fuck right now, and you're _not supposed to be here."_

He doesn't even flinch when he says it, but Rachel feels her face heat up immediately, and she's embarrassed that she can still _get _embarrassed, given the fact that it's not exactly like either one of them are too innocent. There are parts of him that she's still not used to, and his brazen determination to say anything he wants at any given time is one of them.

The only thing she can really say is, "Oh."

"It's boring as _hell _in here," he keeps going, shaking his head. "Shit."

"Where's Bekah?" She isn't really sure why she asks the question, but she's pretty sure it's because she already knows where this is headed. And she isn't too sure at all that she wants to stop it. Her whole purpose in coming all the way over here is getting easier and easier to forget as her eyes keep randomly dropping his chest and then, sometimes, lower to the way his pants sit so low on his hips.

"At my aunt's house. It's my little cousin's birthday." He runs a hand over his head and backwards down his neck. "She's staying there all day."

"And your mom's at work?"

He nods, and she doesn't miss the way his own eyes dart randomly to her lips. That's all it takes for her to forget completely, and the next thing she knows, he's literally got her smashed up against the door. And it's another one of those moments when she can't tell who started it, but she knows one thing- spending more than a week without kissing this boy should be a punishable crime. He pulls her coat off, flicking the buttons open easily before he grabs it and tosses it the three feet to the left where the couch sits. It doesn't matter now because she's certainly not freezing anymore.

He's kissing her in that way that makes it almost impossible for her to breathe. It's her favorite feeling, and she loves it. Really loves it. The hands that are gripping his upper arms cement the deal and officially make her forget that she had any other purpose in coming here. All she knows is that she feels like she couldn't have waited another freaking _second _for this. His hands are low on her back, fingertips dipping just barely into the back of her jeans, and he's kissing her with so much force that her head falls back against the door with nowhere left to go.

She isn't surprised, nor does she argue, when he reaches down and lifts her sweater over her head. And then her undershirt. And then _another _undershirt. And then… "Fucking _Christ, _Rachel, how much fucking clothes do you have _on?"_

"It's really cold outside," she says huffily, half-surprised that coherent speech is still possible.

He ignores her, just slips the last layer off and goes right back into kissing her. There are four of her shirts lying just inches from her feet, but she doesn't think about that. All she thinks about is the way his hands feel as they're tugging the straps of her bra down and the way his tongue feels as it attempts to sweep every millimeter of her mouth. And it's more than obvious that he wants her just as badly as she wants him because it doesn't take long before she hears mutters of, "Condoms…" "Upstairs…" "Don't move…"

But she doesn't listen to that last one, and she just chases after him the second he finally pulls away from her to hurry up to his room. While she wouldn't mind getting down on the floor right here in the living room or even staying pushed up against the door, she also doesn't see the point in waiting around for him when she can just go with him. He's got a whole bed, and the house is empty. And she's not sure she's ever wanted to take advantage of a situation _more._

He doesn't argue, just grabs her hand about halfway up the stairs and literally yanks her the rest of the way. His room is even messier than usual, a result, she assumes, of the forced house arrest. There are clothes all over the floor and not just piled into the corner. His bed is unmade and wrinkled, and she spots four plates of crumbs scattered around the room on just the first glance. His guitar's apparently the only form of entertainment that he has because it's lying right next to his bed, carefully out of the way of the rest of the clutter.

She stops analyzing the state of his room, though, when he starts kissing her again, getting her bra the rest of the way off and going to work on her jeans. She doesn't normally let things move this fast, but she'd be kidding absolutely no one if she tries to say she isn't incredibly eager to just get to it. She doesn't remember to be concerned about anything else right at the moment. The only thing she's concerned with is how _badly _she wants him to touch her and just make the rest of her mind go as blissfully blank as the forefront is.

The past week has been the worst of her life, and she doesn't want to think about it. She doesn't want to think about handcuffs or police stations or screaming fathers or totally lonely existences. All she wants to think about is how good it feels to just be here with him with nothing else in the world to interrupt them or distract them. She's not stupid enough to think that all the rest of it's going to disappear, but she's desperate enough to pretend.

It's faster than usual and definitely more aggressive. She doesn't doubt for a second that he really _is _as bored as he claimed to be because he jumps on the first chance of outside stimulation, and she's got his full attention one-hundred percent. And she likes it, of course, because it feels good and it _does _make her mind go completely blank. But she'd be lying if she said she didn't miss the way he's normally so sweet with her. Either way, though, it doesn't matter because he's with her and not with Quinn or anyone else. And even when the thought passes through her head, she knows it's fucked up. But she can't make herself care. She wants validation, and he definitely gives it to her. And maybe that makes her pathetic and insecure. At the moment, she doesn't really care. All she cares about is that it's _her _name he's breathing into her ear. And not anyone else's.

Later, he goes to the bathroom, and she realizes that the majority of her clothes are downstairs. She grabs her underwear and picks up one of the many shirts littering his floor. She knows she shouldn't be shy about being naked because it's _obviously _not like he hasn't seen it before. But she's not at a point in her life yet where she can just feel comfortable and secure enough to show her body off like that for no reason. She cautiously sniffs the shirt, trying to decipher whether it's clean or dirty, but she can't really tell. As long as it doesn't outright stink, she guesses it's good enough, so she pulls it over her head. When he comes back to the room, she's tugging at her hair, trying to make it look a little less like she's just had it tangled up between his hands and his bed. He's pulled his sweatpants back on, and she's thankful for it because that's one less distraction she has to deal with, though that chest and everything else is still very much on display.

"You should pretty much always wear my clothes all the time," he teases, barely snagging the back hem of the shirt as she turns around to sit down on the edge of the bed. She looks at him and sees him staring, and while part of it makes her feel incredibly attractive, she gets the feeling that another part of him is on the verge of making fun of her.

"What?" she asks, pushing her hair further away from her eyes.

He laughs a little and shakes his head. "You're the only person in the world who wears knee socks. Much less under _jeans."_

She unconsciously pulls her knees underneath her, effectively hiding the socks that he certainly didn't bother removing when he was getting her naked. "No, I'm not. They wouldn't sell them if I was the only person in the world who wore them. Besides, it's cold outside."

He smirks at her, and then it falters just a little bit. "What happened to your car anyway? They took it away?"

She nods, still unhappy with that particular development. "I had it for exactly six hours."

"Shit." He sits down beside her, and she can tell he feels bad. "Rach, I'm really fucking sorry."

Rachel just shrugs. She didn't come here to make him feel guilty, especially considering the fact that she now realizes he's got it much worse than she does. She may not have her shiny new car, but at least she still has pretty much everything else. He doesn't seem to have much of _anything, _and she can only imagine how rough that must be. Especially during Christmas break. "I'm sure I'll get it back eventually," she says dully.

"Rachel, you know you're not supposed to be here." He says it out of nowhere, repeating exactly the same thing he said over and over downstairs. This time, though, he's apparently less distracted by pent up sexual frustration, and he sounds a little bit more serious. "I don't want you to get in more trouble."

"How do you know where I'm supposed to be?" She doesn't care if she comes off as irritated. She _is _a little bit irritated honestly.

"Your dads didn't tell you to stay away from me?"

She frowns and looks away. "I don't care what they say."

"Yes, you do." And she hates him for being right. "If they find out you're here, you're gonna be fucked."

"They're not going to find out." She knows she sounds like a petulant child, but it doesn't really bother her. She's sick and tired of this whole situation.

Puck, though, looks less sure about that. He sighs a little bit, and when she looks back at him, she can see something on his face that she can't really define. "My mom told me to stay away from you."

That bothers her more than anything else she's heard so far, and she's sure she doesn't do a good job of hiding it. "I thought your mom liked me?"

"She _does." _He frowns. "She doesn't want me fucking you up."

"But that's…" she doesn't know what to say, so she finishes lamely with, "not fair."

"_I'm _the problem, Rachel, not you. They don't want _you _around _me. _And I shouldn't be around you anyway because all I do is fuck things up and get you in trouble."

"I got in trouble _once," _she protests immediately.

"You got _arrested," _he corrects her. _"I _got you arrested."

"But it wasn't fair!" And she doesn't even know why she's so vehemently protesting. "Lowell was being an asshole, and he was provoking you! And I _told_ my parents that! And anyway, it's not like we're really going to be in trouble. I mean, my dad took care of everything, so it's just like it never even happened."

She can tell he's conflicted when he stares at her and then shakes his head again. "But it _did _happen, Rachel… And your dad only took care of it because my mom promised him she'd keep me away from you."

That stops her. She stares at him, wondering if he's being serious. She feels the anger inside of her start to swell almost immediately. "Are you serious?"

He looks confused, but he nods.

"You know that for a _fact?"_

He nods again. "Yeah… He told my mom as long as I left you alone, he'd get me out of trouble." The tears that spring to her eyes surprise her, and obviously they surprise him, too, because he stares at her. "Why are you crying?" he asks carefully, obviously worried about her response. She knows he hates when she cries.

She wipes at her eyes, trying not to let the tears actually fall. "Because I thought he was just being nice!" she says, completely exasperated. "I didn't know he was just being a _bastard!"_

"He _was _being nice! Shit, Rachel, I would've been _fucked."_

Rachel has nothing to say to that. It's not even about him. It _is, _but it's not. Not really. "They're just trying to control me," she says heatedly. "They think they can control everything I do!"

Puck looks all conflicted again, but then he frowns a little bit. "They kind of _can, _Rachel… They're your parents."

"I don't care," she bites back stubbornly. "They can't tell me to act like an adult and then treat me like a child!"

She would almost say he looks amused if he still didn't look so worried. He frowns and lifts one shoulder. "That's what being a teenager's all about," he says wistfully. "They want you to be responsible, but they want to control everything. It sucks, but I mean, shit, it is what it is."

"That's not fair, though."

"Yeah, well, life's not fair."

He sounds a lot more bitter than she would expect. She doesn't necessarily enjoy that tone on him, and she stares at him. "Noah…" Again, she opens her mouth with nowhere to go. "Noah, I don't care what they think."

"Yes, you do," he says again, and he doesn't sound the least bit hesitant. "You care because you're not a fuck up, and your parents do everything for you. And you're like lucky as fuck that you've got people who actually give a shit about you. So you're not gonna go around screwing that up over some bullshit like _this."_

She feels like she might start crying again, and she wonders if he means to be as hurtful as he's being. She isn't sure if she's taking his words wrong, but it hurts her. "Why is it bullshit?" she asks flatly.

"Because it _is. _Rachel, I like you, okay? Like a lot. But… I'm not gonna fuck up your life."

She blinks. "I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, but you can't," he says without missing a beat. "Because you may be like super smart and everything, but I do a lot of bad shit. And if you're around me all the fucking time, you're going to get caught up in all that crap, too, and I just don't want you to be."

"So you don't want to be with me." It's a statement, not a question, and his face falters for maybe a split second.

"It's not about that," he says lowly. "You want so much, Rachel. Like a whole fucking lot. You want more than like anybody else I know, and you can fucking get all of it. Because, like… You just can. But if you get in some shit with me… You're never gonna get it."

She stares at him, her mouth just slightly open. She feels sick and sad and maybe worse than she did _before _she came over here. She doesn't know if he's trying to make her feel better, but all he's doing is making her feel bad for _him. _She hates hearing him say those things, and she asks the question before she even has a chance to think about it. "Who fucked you up?"

"Excuse me?"

"Who fucked you up?" she repeats. "You only think bad things about yourself. Why?"

He stares back at her, and she sees her own confusion mirrored there in his eyes. They're more brown than green now, which she doesn't like. They're prettier when they're green- _he's _prettier when they're green. When they're brown, he looks so much more closed off.

"Because I know who I am," he says finally. "I know who I am and what I do, and I don't pretend to be something else, okay? I know I'm a fuck up. I know… I do bad shit, and I get in trouble all the fucking time. And even if I like _try _to stay out of trouble, I still end up fucking up. So, yeah, maybe that's messed up, but that's my fucking life, okay? And you don't want to be in that."

"You can't tell me what I want. You don't even know me that well."

"Bullshit. I do so fucking know you."

But she shakes her head. "If you knew me, you'd know that I'm not some naïve little girl who needs everyone else to make her decisions for her. And you'd know that I can take care of myself and that I don't _care _if you're not perfect because I'm not perfect, either. _No one _is. But you don't even know me well enough to know that."

"You're about as close to perfect as anybody I've ever met." He sounds completely serious, and if she didn't want to cry so badly, she'd be happy. "You don't need all this shit, Rachel."

His last sentence is so quiet that she barely even hears it. He looks maybe as miserable as she is. Maybe worse. She's had her heart broken so many times over the span of a year, and she doesn't know how much more she can take. She hates feeling sorry for herself, but she doesn't know why nothing _ever _works out. She doesn't know why she's sitting here in his room trying to tell him how she feels while he just refuses to hear her.

The thing is… She _knows _a lot of what he's saying is true. He _does _get in trouble, and he's not a perfect person. He does bad things, he can be very mean, and trouble finds him everywhere he goes. But none of that's a surprise. Rachel knows all of it and knows most of it from firsthand experience. But she doesn't hold any of it against him. She doesn't try to change him into something he's not. If you care about someone, you're supposed to accept them. Flaws and all. She's got plenty of flaws. There are things about her that no one likes- things even _she _doesn't like. She's sure that if he made a list of all the things about her that are annoying or irritating, it would be a mile long. But if he really likes her, he wouldn't ask her to change- he'd just accept her regardless. Just like she wants to accept him. But he won't let her. She's never _seen _someone so determined to push people away, and it drives her crazy.

"Don't break up with me," she says quietly, and she can't even look at him. She knows it's silly, too, considering the fact that she's never even been sure if they're really _together. _But right now, she doesn't care if she sounds like an idiot. Or even a _desperate _idiot. "Please…"

"Rachel…" She's not looking at him, but she can hear the conflict in his voice. It hurts.

"I need you," she says, and she's even quieter than before. "Noah, you're the only person I can talk to…"

She knows she sounds pathetic. And desperate. And probably a little psychotic. But she doesn't care because it's all true, and she knows without a doubt that if she loses one more thing, she's going to officially break. Too much has happened in too short of a time, and she's barely been making it as is. Coming here was supposed to make her feel better, not worse. But listening to him be so down on himself coupled with the fact that honestly feels _betrayed _by her parents… It's just too much, and she can't take anymore. She can't lose anything else.

She feels his arms around her shoulders before she looks at him. She just barely catches a glance of his face before he pulls her toward him and hugs her, letting one hand smooth over her still messy hair as her forehead falls forward against his shoulder. She closes her eyes, breathing him in and trying really hard not to cry. He whispers something she doesn't even hear, and she doesn't know if he's breaking up with her or reassuring her. She can't make the distinction because she doesn't _want _to. If he's breaking her heart, she doesn't want to hear it. She just wants one minute of peace where all the other shit in the world disappears.

She does hear one sentence, though, and she can't even stop the giggle that escapes when he says, "Just swear you'll stop the Santana alliance, okay?"

If he's making jokes, she assumes they might be okay. She hopes they are. She's never needed anyone as much as she needs someone right now, and there's no one else she wants right now, either. They can be okay if they just _try._

She just needs him to realize it, too.

… … …

A/N: Angst, angst, angst! Thanks to all the readers and everyone who has reviewed- you guys are amazing, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. Thanks again!


	24. Chapter 24

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

Rachel feels a mix of emotions when she wakes up the following Monday.

The first, and most prevalent, is dread. The second is sickness. She's aware that _sick _is not technically an emotion, but she doesn't care. Her stomach feels off, and her head is splitting. Just the thought of her usual protein shake makes her want to vomit, and she barely even recognizes her reflection. As she stares into the bathroom mirror, all she sees is paleness, exhaustion, and dark circles where her eyes should be. She's dreaded going to school before but never to the point of making herself physically ill. Even _she's _not generally that dramatic.

She doesn't really know what to expect. She's used to people talking about her, of course- they've been doing it for years. They talk about her clothes and her parents and her weirdness and about male body parts that she's rumored to possess. She's used to all of that. Most of the things people say are untrue, and they're nearly all hurtful. But she's usually able to ignore them.

There have been rare instances where the gossip has been founded. When she got Mr. Ryerson fired, for example. She's not proud of that, and she still won't admit to it… but the rumors flew rapidly after that. And even though she has never confirmed them, some of the things that were said were true. Another example? When she told Finn the truth about the baby last year. She's still not sure how _she _ended up being the bad guy in that scenario, but somehow, she did. People whispered about her and about how she couldn't keep her nose out of other people's business. They all said she only did it to get Finn for herself, and maybe that was partially true, but it didn't make her feel good. The gossip was founded again earlier this fall when she cheated on Finn and all of that came crashing down. People loved making up reasons as to why she did it or, rather, why _Puck _did it, and she heard about a thousand different scenarios.

Those instances aren't the norm, though. Generally gossip is just gossip, and it's only made up and spread in an attempt to hurt someone- more often than not, _her. _She knows there's no way to deny this, though. Everyone in the school knows what happened on her birthday, and she fully expects to be the center of all conversation the second she steps foot into school. She wishes she could just lie back down and sleep for another year or so, and then maybe she might feel a little bit better. Probably not, but it would be worth a shot.

It doesn't matter, though, because less than an hour later, she finds herself in her dad's car, staring at the window and feeling sicker and sicker with each passing block. Her dad looks worried, too, and she would like to think it's because he's concerned about the fact that she's heading straight into the gates of hell, but she's sure it's more to do with the fact that she's heading straight back to Noah Puckerman, and her dad knows there's nothing he can do about it. He can't watch her every second of the day and control every move she makes like he and her other father have been intent on doing all break. She's about to be out of their sight, and she knows they're probably worried about what's going to happen.

Rachel thinks she's done a good job so far of _not _killing anyone. She has yet to throw into their faces the fact that they purposely manipulated a sixteen year old boy into staying away from her by promising to make criminal charges disappear. She has yet to demand an explanation as to why they think it's appropriate to try and control every aspect of her life. And she's yet to scream at them that they can't make her do anything she doesn't want to do. She attributes all of those things to a high level of self-control and maturity.

She just doesn't know how long it's going to last.

She hasn't been sneaking around. She's actually obeyed her parents' orders and stayed away from the boy they think was born to corrupt her. Well, except for that one time, of course, but that hardly counts because they left her no choice. It's not like she's had much of a choice in the rest of the avoidance, either, given the fact that even while working, her parents are able to keep a fairly close watch on her. And there aren't many opportunities to sneak off when your boyfriend has a mother whose work schedule is _completely _random and a little sister who keeps him pretty permanently on babysitting duty. It's not worth the risk. Also, she has no car, and he only has his keys when Bekah needs to go somewhere. So the freezing winter temperatures don't help much in getting them together.

So it's been a week since she last saw him, and knowing he'll be at school is the _only _thing that doesn't make her fake appendicitis or something on the drive there. When her dad pulls up at the school, he kisses the side of her head and tells her to be careful. He doesn't explicitly say, _"Stay away from that boy or else!" _but she's nearly positive that's what he means. She barely mumbles a goodbye before slinging her bag over her shoulder and heading toward the building.

She isn't disappointed when she enters. People fulfill all of her predictions, and she's immediately met with stares and whispers that she couldn't ignore even if she tried. She isn't going to let any of them see how bothered she is, though, and she just keeps her head up and pretends to be oblivious as she heads for her locker. This is not how she envisioned 2011 beginning, but nothing really ever goes as she envisions it, so she's not that shocked.

She _is _shocked to be accosted with two flashes of red that block both sides of her when she opens her locker.

"What the hell happened to your face?" Santana's staring at her critically, and Rachel wonders _why _this is happening. "Did you like not sleep for forty days and forty nights or something? You look like shit."

Rachel says nothing when Santana grabs her purse and passes it to Brittany who immediately starts digging through it and pulling out any and all cosmetics she can find. "You need some of that stuff you like roll under your eyes to make the bags disappear," Brittany says quietly as she digs. "I used some on my pug. Now he looks like a beagle."

Rachel only has time to blink before Santana's got the makeup brush out and is attacking her with it. "Hair down," she orders, and Brittany obeys, slipping the elastic out of her hair and shaking out her long, blonde hair. "Not _you, _Brittany." Santana rolls her eyes. "Take _her _hair down."

"Oh." Brittany effortlessly slips her own hair back up and then follows Santana's orders and takes Rachel's down, running her fingers through the tangles to get it smoothed out.

"You don't wear a ponytail unless you're _forced," _Santana says seriously, her own hair pulled tightly away from her face via Cheerios code. "Or unless you're eight. Or a lesbian," she adds as an after-thought. Rachel doesn't know where the correlation between ponytails and lesbians comes into play, but she doesn't try to understand Santana's brain. "Oh, and anorexia?" Santana stops with the makeup and raises an eyebrow. "Not a good look for you. Eat a cheeseburger or something, k?"

Rachel doesn't even have the strength to go into all the reasons why she will never, _ever _ingest a cheeseburger. Normally, she'd have twenty bullet points- evenly matched in health reasons and moral reasons- but right now, she can only say, "What are you doing?"

"Trying to make you less tragic," Santana speaks as though it's the most obvious answer in the world. "If you're going to be at the center of a scandal, you can at least look good while doing it. Or not _awful," _she amends a second later. "Christmas is over, we can't hope for miracles."

If they weren't so often directed at her, Rachel might find Santana's backhanded jabs amusing or at least creative. She has the uncanny ability to turn any sentence into an insult- something that makes her a giant bitch, of course, but that might also prove useful for her in the future.

"I don't care," Rachel protests weakly. "Nobody even cares that much."

"Please." Santana rolls her eyes for what might be the five-thousandth time in less than a minute. "Getting arrested is like getting fucked on the back deck of Amber Ellington's lake house while there's a party underneath. People are going to talk."

_Santana _was the one who got fucked on Amber's deck, so obviously she's speaking from experience. Rachel just shakes her head, though.

"You look at least presentable now," Santana goes on, snapping the makeup closed and dropping it back into the purse Brittany's still holding. "You looked like shit before. You know who _doesn't _look like shit this morning?" She raises her eyebrows but doesn't wait for an answer. "Quinn."

"Yeah, she looks like Cinderella," Brittany hands Rachel her purse back. "But with like both shoes."

Rachel wants to protest and say something that at least hints at the fact that she is not intimidated by Quinn, but, of course, it would be a lie. She feels too tired to pretend anyway. A second later, it doesn't matter because they're joined by a fourth person, and Santana looks more than a little thrilled.

"Look what the cat dragged in."

Puck just glares at her, and Rachel would be amused if she didn't hate her life so much at the moment. Santana, though, definitely looks amused, and she just quirks her lips into a not-at-all innocent smile. Brittany grabs his wrist and turns it over in her hand, and it's very obvious that she apparently thinks she's going to find handcuff markings two weeks after the fact.

"My Uncle Robert got arrested once," she says blankly. "He was making crystal meth in his bathroom. I thought he'd get really rich because that champagne is like five-hundred dollars a bottle or something. But he didn't get rich, he just got arrested." She looks up then. "His picture was in the paper, though."

Puck stares at her. Rachel sighs softly. And Santana gently takes her hand and then links their pinkies together. "See you losers, around," she says carelessly. "Try to stay out of trouble. I'm broke after Christmas, so bail money's kinda tight."

The two Cheerios flounce away without a care in the world, and Rachel can't believe that she actually feels worse after they've gone. Like it or not, they offered her a few minutes of protection that she's not going to get anywhere else. Now it's like she's just opened herself right back up to the stares and the whispers, and maybe it's even worse now that Puck's standing beside her.

"Hey," he says quietly, and she fully looks at him for the first time that morning.

"Hi."

"You okay?" He's speaking lowly, obviously trying to block their conversation from the various clusters of people who walk by eyeing them like they're on display at the zoo or something.

"I don't feel too good." She's still trying to ignore the pain in her stomach and the way her head feels like it might split open at any second.

"Are you sick?" And then he's got his hand on her forehead, feeling for a fever, and she thinks she might burst into tears.

"No, I just don't want to be here."

"Me, either. Let's leave."

Rachel stares at him, seriously contemplating his suggestion. A few months ago, she would never have even considered skipping school, and now it sounds like the best idea she's heard in months. Still, she knows better. "We have to at least show up. I don't need the office calling my dads, trust me."

"So we'll go to first period."

"And Spanish," she breaks in. "Mr. Schue's already nosy enough."

He knows she's right and nods begrudgingly. Then he stops and looks at her. "I thought you were gonna kill the Santana thing?"

Rachel just sighs again and shrugs disinterestedly. "They were making me look less tragic," she explains listlessly. He just raises and eyebrow, and she shakes her head.

"I'll see you in Spanish," he says a second later when it's obvious that she's not going to explain further. "Want me to walk you to English?"

_Yes. _"No, I'm fine. You'll be late. I'll just see you later."

Truthfully, she wants him to walk her to English, to sit with her in English (possibly in the same desk), and to punch anyone who looks at her during English. She's shocked to see how quickly she's come around to the notion of provoked violence. He's big, though. And people are scared of him. If he starts hitting people, they'll probably leave her alone. Maybe.

Of course, it's the hitting people that's got them into their current predicament in the first place…

His lips press against the corner of her temple and effectively cut off her train of thought. He smiles at her almost shyly when she looks up at him, and then he closes her locker for her and turns the lock back into place. "Text me if you're bored," he tells her with a shrug. "I got my phone back."

"You stole it?"

"No, Mom gave it back this morning." He shrugs. "You know, because her schedule might change or something, and Bekah can't wait outside of school forever because it's fucking cold."

Rachel doubts that those are his mom's exact words, but she understands the idea. He must be happy that he's got his keys _and _his phone back all in one morning. She certainly is. It makes her hate the day a little bit less.

She makes it through English without speaking to anyone. She doesn't really know anyone in that class, so even though people stare at her and obviously whisper, no one bothers actually saying anything _to _her. It's not until after class, though, that she really starts to realize why her stomach's been hurting all morning. Apparently it's a sign of disaster to come because as she makes her way toward the foreign language hall, she spots a familiar scene she hoped to never, _ever _witness again.

Finn and Quinn. Together at Quinn's locker. Smiling and looking very much into each other.

Rachel literally stops walking to stare. They don't see her, but they don't seem to see too much of anything besides each other. The pain in her stomach gets worse, and for a split second, she honestly thinks she might throw up right there in the middle of the hallway. She isn't sure why she immediately feels so terrible or why she should even care so much. And really, they're only standing together. But they look… They just _look. _

And Rachel's got her phone out before she even has another second to contemplate it.

As if born of superpowers, Santana shows up within seconds. She hasn't even responded to the text Rachel sent, but it's like she's got some sort of sixth sense that just allows her to show up anywhere potential gossip-worthy action might be happening. She takes one look in the direction Rachel's staring and shakes her head.

"That slut."

Rachel normally hates that. If females can't get away with calling each other fat, they automatically go to slut or whore. Rachel has always found it demeaning and ridiculous, but at the moment, she can't make herself hate the word choice. She hates herself, though, for several reasons. She hates that she's turned into such a jealous, spiteful person. She hates that she's insecure. She hates that she's calling the meanest girl she knows just to get some sort of validation for her own lack of self worth. This is not who she is, and it's not who she wants to be.

Still. The sight in front of her makes her sicker than before. "Are they together?" she asks, repeating the same question she texted Santana seconds before.

"If they are, it's news to me." Santana looks slightly disgusted. "She's so pathetic."

They look every bit as American Dream as they did before- the perfect, beautiful blonde cheerleader and the head jock. It makes Rachel want to puke. Literally. And she just might, given the fact that her stomach seems to be twisting in and out of knots.

"Ugh, she can't get Puck so she goes running back to Finn?" Santana wrinkles her nose. "I mean, whatever, I know those two are your hang-ups, too, but seriously? Take it from the girl who got _both _their V-cards, neither one of them is worth _that _much bullshit."

That sentence alone should be enough to make Rachel realize that this "alliance" truly _is _just as unholy as Puck claims. It's not as if her claim is a surprise on either front, since Rachel knows perfectly well that both are true. It still… Puck and Finn and Quinn… And Santana? It's confusing enough without adding in extras. She doesn't know how she let herself get caught up in this or, even more, how _they _let her get caught up in it. If they were on Sesame Street, and her face popped up along with all the rest of theirs, that song, "One of These Things Is Not Like the Others" would fittingly be playing in the background.

"I don't still want him," Rachel says firmly, not taking her eyes away from Finn and Quinn and whatever sickeningly cute flirting they're doing. She's aware that her statement comes out of nowhere, and she can feel Santana eyeing her suspiciously. It doesn't matter, though. It's the truth. She knows that one-hundred percent by now. So she doesn't understand why it hurts so bad to see him with someone else.

Or to see him with Quinn specifically.

"Look, let Quinn have your sloppy seconds," Santana rolls her eyes yet again. "Or like whatever, I don't even know whose seconds they are. I mean you guys practically use the same fork. But yeah, whatever. Just ignore those two lame goody two-shoes and like go have some fucking fun for once in your miserable life."

"You think this is fun?" Rachel stares at her blankly.

"Puck is more fun than Finn, okay?" Santana shrugs. "I mean, shit, at least Puck knows where to find good weed. Finn probably tries to smoke the shit his mom makes him yank out of her vegetable garden."

Rachel watches Finn and Quinn for just a few more seconds before she shakes her head, decides to be over it, and heads back toward the row of lockers on the other side of the hallway. She tells herself over and over that Finn is perfectly at liberty to see whoever he wants to see and that she has absolutely no right or say so in that.

"Let's leave," she says bluntly the second she spots the person she's looking for. Puck's at his locker getting his Spanish book, but she takes it from him and throws it back inside. "I don't want to go to Spanish. Let's leave now."

He doesn't take much convincing, and they're headed for the parking lot within seconds. She doesn't really care anymore that everyone's staring, She also doesn't care that Mr. Schuester is possibly the one teacher in the school who will purposely notice their absence and especially their _joint _absence. He's not going to tattle on them, though, because getting in trouble could make them academically ineligible for extracurricular activities, and obviously, Mr. Schue needs them. So whatever.

She climbs into his truck like she owns it, and he joins her from the other side, tossing his bag over the seat as she throws her own into the floorboard and buckles her seatbelt. He asks her where she wants to go, and she responds with, "Far the hell away from here," knowing instantly that it sounds exactly like some nonsense that would come out of _his _mouth.

They end up at her house because it's too cold to go anywhere else. She's smart enough to have him park about three blocks away from her driveway, consciously out of sight should anyone be spying or driving by randomly. She doesn't trust her dads enough to think that this isn't a possibility, so they sneak around to the back door and go in that way in case any of her neighbors have been commissioned to keep an eye out.

When he finally kisses her, she feels like she's been waiting forever, and really, she sort of has been. They were supposed to have two weeks of free time together, and instead, they got one day that was overall sort of miserable. There's lots of time to make up for, and Rachel feels like her bedroom is the perfect place to start making it up. She's not surprised that he doesn't even attempt to keep her downstairs in front of the plasma to watch ESPN or whatever else he loves watching on her TV. Apparently, he's been waiting, too, because sports and TV don't even seem to cross his thoughts.

She feels a little bit of smug satisfaction as she's sneaking him up to her room. It makes her feel rebellious and sort of like someone who just doesn't give a crap about anything else- about rules or opinions or consequences. And it feels good to just not care for a little while. She likes it. A lot.

She also likes him. A lot. And she likes the way he smells so clean this early in the day. And she likes the way his arms feel so snug around her waist when he pulls her down on top of him and kisses her like she's been dying for him to do for ages. His mouth still tastes like toothpaste, and his teeth are really pretty and white when he smiles at her. She thinks _he's _really pretty, though she has enough sense to know this is not something he would want her to say out loud.

"I'm gonna fail eleventh grade if I have to skip school every time I want to make out with you," he says out of nowhere just as she ducks her head to kiss the underside of his chin.

"I'm gonna tell my dads to fuck off," she answers decisively, giggling when he stares at her in impressed shock.

"You are definitely not going to say that to your dads," he tells her, and she just smiles because given the way she feels at this exact moment, she just might.

"I'll use that excuse." She shrugs. "If they don't stop being assholes, I'm going to fail junior year. It can be their choice."

"They'll send you to a convent or something."

Rachel just nods. "Yes, every convent is just _dying _for the Jewish daughter of two gay men. The arrest record will just seal the deal, I'm sure."

He laughs, and she likes the way it sounds. "Sometimes you're funny," he tells her right before he grabs her face and kisses her again.

"And the rest of the time?" She pulls back and looks at him expectantly.

"The rest of the time, I think about killing you."

She gasps and then giggles despite herself, unsure of why everything has turned so unintentionally hilarious all of a sudden. "That's not very nice!" And she punches his arm weakly.

"Yeah, well, I'm an asshole."

He kisses her again, and she lets him, not at all concerned by the way the rest of her brain shuts down completely. This is so much better than sitting in Spanish listening to Mr. Schuester drone about conjugation while the rest of the class naps. In fact, this is maybe the best idea she's ever had.

"So how do you feel about threesomes?"

The question catches her _totally _off-guard, and she stops everything she's doing and sits straight up, staring down at the boy in her bed and wondering if he's even remotely serious. He looks sort of serious, but it's hard to tell with him. One hand goes behind his head, and he smirks up at her.

"I mean, if you're BFF with Santana now, that shit kinda comes with the territory."

She smacks him again, and he laughs. Obviously she needs to learn how to hit better if her attempts at violence are so damn amusing.

"Maybe I should ask her for tips on how to kick your ass," she snaps back.

"Santana's all bark, no bite." He grins again. "Well, sometimes a little bite."

"Are you _seriously _thinking about Santana while you're making out with me?"

"Are _you?" _She glares at him, and reaches up and places his free hand on her neck. "Because if you are, that is super hot."

Rachel rolls her eyes and pushes his hand away. "Stop trying to piss me off because you're scared she's going to tell me all your secrets."

"What secrets?"

"I don't know," Rachel shrugs nonchalantly. "Whatever secrets you're terrified she's going to start spilling. They must be good if you're this distracted."

He watches her with a lazy smile, obviously trying to decide whether she's bluffing.

"Think about _me _when you're kissing me," she says bluntly.

"You're even starting to act like her a little bit," he says, shaking her head. "She's really bossy, too."

Rachel wants to scream, and she knows he's doing it all on purpose now to push her buttons. Two can play that game, though, so she goes super dirty.

"Finn's probably dating Quinn again."

It works because he stares at her blankly for several seconds and says nothing. Then he sits up and raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean _probably?"_

"I mean it's yet to be confirmed, but I've put Santana on it, so I expect confirmation before lunch. She's going to text me." That should get her double points.

She watches as his eyes narrow, and he looks a little bit angry. She doesn't know where the anger stems from, so she just says nothing until he finally speaks. "And that bothers you, doesn't it?"

"Does it bother _you?"_

Touché. She's not stupid. She knows how to play this game. She can't decide which part will bother him more- the Finn part or the Quinn part. She doesn't know which part bothers _her _more.

"He's only doing it to piss me off," Puck finally says, and he sounds actually sure of himself. Rachel wonders if it's true.

"She's only doing it because of me." Maybe it's not true. Rachel doesn't care. Rationalizing it makes her feel better. He seems to agree with her (or at least pretends to) because he nods, and then he's pulling her back down to the bed with him.

Right before he gets her there, though, he stops and looks at her seriously. "Don't fucking think about Finn when you're with me."

He sounds so serious that it's almost funny. It's also a little bit thrilling because it sounds so possessive and angry, and even though she's probably compromising her role as a feminist, she likes the way it sounds. Still, she has a _little _bit of dignity, so she just lifts her eyebrows and stares at him.

"Don't think about Santana when you're with _me." _Then, as an afterthought, she adds, "Or Quinn."

That infuriatingly cocky smirk is back, and he shakes his head. "You've got my undivided attention, Rach, swear."

He's just being an ass, and she knows it. It's funny then how that one sentence gives her a little of the assurance she's been needing lately. She's surprised to find that she's not even really that bothered anymore by the scene that upset her so much earlier in the hallway. She figures, if they want each other, they should have each other. She's pretty happy with what she's got.

Now she just has to figure out a way to have it without failing eleventh grade.

… … …

A/N: Labor Day! No school/no work! How fun! Thanks for reading!


	25. Chapter 25

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

Rachel schedules the first round of her plan of attack for Thursday night.

School's been back in session for four days, and so far, she's missed a total of nine classes. This is not acceptable, of course, and some of the teachers are starting to notice. She has missed Spanish _every _day, and she's not sure why, except for the fact that she knows Mr. Schue won't turn her in. Not when he needs her for Regionals. Also, it feels pretty good to purposely be blowing off his class while knowing there's really nothing he can do about it. He won't tell on her, and he won't fail her. She figures turnabout's fair play, and he's used her enough to warrant the slight blackmail she's forcing on him. And when he stops both her and Puck after glee and warns them that they better start showing up for class, she just flashes him a smile and promises they'll see him there.

They don't show up the next day, either.

Rachel chooses Thursday for two reasons- one because the second round is going to be more difficult and will take more time, so she needs to save that for the weekend. And two because she knows that this particular part is going to be tricky and needs precise timing. She checks with Puck approximately fifteen times to make sure things will be in order, and when he tells her a couple of times that he doesn't think it's going to work, she scoffs at him and tells him he has no idea what the extent of her abilities are. She can put on a damn good performance when the need arises, and right now, she's preparing for the role of a lifetime.

He texts her when he leaves to go pick his sister up from piano that night and says he'll text her again when they've finished their ice cream. She tells him to stall a little bit and give her some time, and begrudgingly says okay. She knows he's nervous about how this is all going to end up, but she is confident that it's going to work out just fine. In fact, she's almost _excited _for it.

She borrows her dad's car with the guise of going to the drugstore and drives instead to the Puckerman house. She takes a few deep breaths to get herself into character, plants the most pitiful look she can manage onto her face, and then goes to knock on the door. Mrs. Puckerman is clearly surprised to see her there, but her surprise is miniscule in comparison to the concern she has when she sees how miserable Rachel looks standing there on her front porch.

"Rachel, honey. What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Rachel sniffs and nods, keeping the miserable look perfectly in place. "Can I talk to you?" she asks quietly, trying to sound as perfectly pitiful as possible.

"Of course, sweetie, come inside." Mrs. Puckerman holds the door open for her and then ushers her into the kitchen. "I'm just making some tea. Would you like some?"

Rachel nods again and takes the mug of hot tea gratefully. The few moments she spent outside made her very cold, and she feels like the shivering adds a little bit to her performance. She sips the tea and keeps her eyes trained on the table as Mrs. Puckerman slides into the chair beside her and looks at her with concern.

"Now what's wrong?" Her voice is gentle and coaxing, and Rachel wonders how this woman ever raised kids with the mouths that they've got.

"Noah's not here, is he?" she asks quietly, knowing perfectly well exactly where he is. She needs to make it look legitimate, though.

"No, he's gone to get Bekah from her piano lesson. Are you okay?"

Rachel stays focused, though, and she sets her mug down before frowning and dropping her face into her hands. "This is embarrassing," she mumbles. "But I… I need someone to talk to, and I don't have a mom…"

_Bingo. _Rachel's not even looking, but she can tell from the way the air shifts that she's just won the jackpot. She knows it's wrong to use this bit of information as a means to manipulation, but she also knows it works. Women always want to take care of her when they find out she's motherless. It's like their female instinct immediately kicks in, and they all want to coddle her and baby her. It works especially well on women who are already mothers themselves. Rachel's never used to it like this before- specifically to her advantage- but she figures that if the adults think it's okay to manipulate them, then she shouldn't feel guilty turning the tables a little bit.

"Rachel…" Mrs. Puckerman sounds like her heart is breaking, and Rachel finally looks up when she feels a hand on her back. She's looking at Rachel like she wants to hug her and love her and possibly adopt her. Perfect.

"This is really embarrassing," Rachel says again, making herself sound as miserable as possible. "I mean, because you're…" Her voice trails purposely right before she says _Noah's mom, _and she lets it just be assumed. "But I don't know who else to talk to."

"Oh, honey." Mrs. Puckerman looks very worried for a second. "You're not pregnant, are you?"

Rachel wants to laugh because it's all working out so perfectly. She knows better than to break character for even a split second, though, so she shakes her head quickly. "Oh, no. No, I'm very careful. It's nothing like that."

There's a moment when Mrs. Puckerman lets out a small breath she's been holding. "Thank God," she says, obviously relieved. "I'm not ready to go through all that again."

Rachel wonders if it's a good or a bad thing that she's basically just confessed to having sex with this woman's son with little to no reaction to anything except the fact that she's not pregnant. Of course, it's not like his mom thinks he's a virgin or anything. Obviously. But she doesn't seem shocked at all by Rachel's admission, either. It's a good thing, too, considering the scheduled plan of attack.

Rachel draws in a slow, pointed breath and then bites down on her lip a little for good measure. "I just…" She lets her voice trail purposefully and then sighs quietly. "How do you know if a boy likes you?"

Mrs. Puckerman raises a single eyebrow- something, Rachel notes, her son can do as well. Rachel thinks for a second that maybe she's seeing through her, so she rushes to further explain.

"I just… It's like…" She's stumbling over her words on perfect. It helps to enhance the performance. "I don't really have any friends, either, so there's really no one I can talk to. I just always… I always think boys like me, but then they always end up hurting me."

"What did Noah do?" Her voice is different, almost like she's dreading whatever's coming next. Rachel finds it almost funny, but she makes sure to keep her face as sullen and confused as possible.

"It's not… He didn't do anything," she says quietly. "But I mean, not just him. Every boy. I had this one boyfriend, Jesse." She stops and looks down at her lap. "He's going to be famous. He told me I would be, too." She looks up and blinks several times. "He told me I was going to be a star."

She can tell that she's got Mrs. Puckerman good and confused, which is honestly exactly how she wants her. She figures she'll get her more and more confused by being as random as possible, so she keeps going.

"He's the most talented person I've ever met in my life. He's so… perfect," she finally finishes in exaggeration. "And he always told me I was talented, too. But then he _humiliated _me! In front of all his friends! He used me to win a _singing competition." _She lets her voice get _really _dramatic there, and then she draws it back to almost a whisper. "He was my first boyfriend…"

"Rachel…" It's obvious that Mrs. Puckerman has no idea what to say and that she's beginning to wonder how this particular conversation fell on _her. _As far as Rachel's concerned, that's perfect. "Some people are just assholes."

That surprises her a little bit, and she thinks it's probably clear on her face, too. She nods, though, slowly. "He and all his friends threw eggs at me," she says blankly. "I'm a vegan. I'm still having nightmares about all those little innocents that will never get the chance to grow up and be chickens…"

She can't tell if the look on Mrs. Puckerman's face is one of shock and horror or if it's one of complete confusion at her nightmare follow-up. She doesn't say anything, though, and Rachel just looks down at the table for a few seconds, and then she says, "I dated Finn, too."

"I know."

"He told me he loved me." She sets her face as blank as possible and lets her voice go incredibly monotone. This is where she's going to win all her points, and she needs it to be flawless. "I believed him."

There's no question as to where this is going, and Rachel knows Mrs. Puckerman's already rightly predicted it. She can tell by the look on her face. The look that's so full of sympathy and understanding. And maybe she should feel guilty. _Probably _she should feel guilty. But there's no room for guilt when life-changing performances are taking place. There's only room for perfection.

"I did… everything with him." She looks down for a second and even manages a blush. If this were real (which it _is, _but it's not), she knows she would have the decency to be uncomfortable discussing these things. So she turns it on full force. "I thought, you know, that's what you're supposed to do if you love someone."

"Oh, honey…"

_Score._

Rachel swallows again and shakes her head a little. "I'd never done it before. You know, with anybody else. And I think I just… I let things go too fast with us, but I thought… I thought we were in love. And… I just, I thought it was _special. _He told me I was his first, too, but I wasn't… He lied to me."

This is where the tears come in, and she lets her eyes flood appropriately for several seconds before she wipes at them quickly, _trying_ to appear as though she's _trying_ to make them less obvious. Mrs. Puckerman stares at her, obviously full of so much sorrow for her. She looks like _she _might cry, which would be really awesome actually. Rachel knows she's going to have terrible karma after all this, but she doesn't particularly care given the current situation. She feels slightly guilty for twisting the story to make Finn sound like a horrible, heartless person, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

And anyway, it's not a _lie._

"I'm sorry," Rachel says quickly, wiping away at her eyes as she produces even more tears. "I know this isn't your… I just…" She hiccups a little on a particularly heavy sob. "My dads don't understand."

"Sweetie, it's okay." Mrs. Puckerman lays a hand on her shoulder gently and offers the softest smile imaginable. "You can talk to me, it's fine. Do your parents even know you're here?"

She shakes her head. "No, I had to lie and say I was going to the drugstore. I'm grounded." She cries a little bit more. "And I didn't want them to know about all this anyway. They don't… I just wanted to talk to a woman…"

This is a careful part of the plan. She needs to make clear that she's not _supposed _to be here. That way, when their parents eventually talk, Mrs. Puckerman won't make mention of this conversation. Doing so could potentially tip her dads off, so it's very important that she plays the secret card. It appears to be working well because Mrs. Puckerman just nods and silently vows her confidence. She might actually come out and say it, but her phone rings, and she pulls it out to check.

"It's Noah," she says quietly, and Rachel immediately shakes her head frantically.

"Don't tell him I'm here!" As if he hasn't been in on the plan since the beginning.

His mom just nods and answers the phone. "Hi… Did you get Rebekah?... Okay, yeah, that sounds great… Sure… Hey, can you stop by the store when you're done with ice cream? Just grab whatever you guys want… Yeah, okay… Mmm-hmm… Okay, love you… Bye."

Rachel isn't sure this could possibly go more perfectly. She's putting on the performance of a lifetime. He's calling to secretly check the progress. His mom is completely clueless and purposely keeping him away from the house. It's _amazing._

"Thank you," Rachel says quietly once the phone's hung up. "I… I don't think he wants me around here." He's actually unintentionally given her the world's most perfect segue, and he doesn't even know it.

"Why would you think that?"

Rachel drops her forehead into one of her hands and does the thing where she struggles to get her breathing straight before running her hands through the ends of her hair and finally looking back up. "He's just been pretty much ignoring me since my birthday."

"He's been in trouble, Rachel."

"I know." She frowns and sniffs again. "But I just… Everything was just so perfect… Like on my birthday. But then, you know, everything happened. And now he won't even talk to me, and I just… I don't even know what I did."

"You didn't do anything, honey."

Now's the perfect opportunity to bring the tears back, and Rachel once again lets her eyes go all watery. "I must have," she says quietly. "Because… I mean, I know we're both in trouble, but now we're back at school. And we have class together and glee, and… And it's like I'm not even there. But before, he was always around and taking care of me and just…" She sniffs for emphasis. "I just thought things would be different with him."

"Rachel…"

She doesn't give her a chance to interrupt. "I thought, like he's so different, you know? So I just thought we could have fun… I mean, he _is _different. He wasn't saying I love you or making promises or anything like that, and I just thought… If he wasn't saying all that, then he couldn't lie to me. And if he wasn't lying then I couldn't get hurt again…" She actually lets some tears fall right here, an inspired touch. "But it _does _hurt."

"Honey, you don't-"

Rachel cuts her off again. "I knew he didn't love me, but I really thought he _liked _me," she says desperately.

"He _does _like you." Mrs. Puckerman looks so conflicted that it's almost delicious. She also looks very sure of that statement, though, which makes Rachel feel about ten types of wonderful. "Trust me. He likes you a lot."

This part is important, too. Rachel does her best to look the part of a hopeful, yet naïve, little girl through her tears. She manages an almost half-smile for about three seconds before she lets her face fall again and shakes her head. "If he did, he wouldn't ignore me. Not right now…" She lets her voice drop even lower. "Not when everyone's making up lies and gossiping about me."

"If people are lying about you, it's only because they're pathetic human beings with no lives of their own."

Her words sound almost identical to something Rachel's own parents might say. She doesn't point this out. Instead, she just shakes her head again. "He always used to take up for me… I told you I don't have a lot of friends…" She forces as much misery as she can manage into her voice. "Noah's really the only one who takes up for me. I mean, even at the restaurant that night, that's all it was. He was just taking up for me…" She squeezes a few more tears out. "Now he doesn't care, and I don't even know what I did wrong."

There's the guilt. Rachel commends herself on being able to extract it so easily. Her Jewish female prowess is obviously coming along quite nicely. She can tell by looking at her that Mrs. Puckerman feels horrible for forbidding her son from seeing her. It's perfect. She'll be caving momentarily.

"Noah really cares about you," she finally says, and her voice sounds slightly tensed. "I think he's just concerned about getting you into more trouble."

Rachel wants to shout that it's not _he _who is concerned, but this isn't about calling bluffs. There is a real purpose to this entire exercise, and she can't forget that. "I thought he cared," she says helplessly. "But I guess I was just wrong… And it's so lonely at school without him. I don't… I don't have any other friends."

"Rachel, he _is _your friend." And Mrs. Puckerman seems very sure of herself. "Trust me, he likes you a lot, probably more than I've seen him like any girl."

The smile that wants to break free at those words has to be carefully contained. Rachel is careful to show no pleased reaction to the statement. Instead, she just raises her eyebrows and asks, "Then why is he _doing_ this to me?" She doesn't wait for an answer before moving right into her next desperate act. "I just want to know how to tell if a boy is real or not… I don't want to spend my whole life picking boys who lie to me or just use me and ignore me!"

That's the winner, and she's not at all surprised when a hand reaches out and brushes the tears away from her cheeks. "I'll talk to him." And Rachel should feel bad for manipulating his mom so easily, but she doesn't. "He's just… Things are difficult right now, but I'll talk to him."

And it's as good as done.

If she was any less humble, Rachel would probably pat herself on the back. She doesn't, though, because that's very unbecoming and also because she's not one-hundred percent in the clear yet and still needs to keep the act up.

"Please don't tell him I came here," she says quietly, looking up shyly through her lashes. "I don't want him to think I'm like… crazy or something." Actually, if she had a nickel for every time he's _called _her crazy, she'd be pretty damn rich.

"I won't tell him, honey, don't worry." Rachel knows, of course, that she definitely _will _tell him, but she's not worried about that.

"And don't tell my dads, either," she reminds quickly. "I mean, they're great, you know, but they always think they can help… And sometimes I just," she looks sad again, "I just need a mom."

And when she's being wrapped up tightly in a hug the next second, she knows she's totally successful. This conversation might get back to Puck, but it's going nowhere near her dads. She returns the hug and finally lets herself smirk a little once her face is thoroughly hidden.

"You come talk to me anytime you want, Rachel."

Rachel smiles as she lifts her head, careful to keep herself looking a tiny bit depressed while throwing out all of her best _love me, you want me to be your daughter-in-law, I'm a good little Jewish girl _reminder looks.

"Thank you," she says sweetly. She smiles again. "Noah and Bekah are really lucky."

That part's not a lie.

A few minutes later, when she's back in her dad's car and about a mile down the road, she pulls her phone out of her purse and hits the speed dial. He answers on the first ring.

"Did she yell at you?"

"Nope," Rachel says proudly. "Phase one is complete and quite successful."

"Shut the fuck up."

"I swear." She can't help the pleased smile on her face, and she's nearly positive he can hear it. "She bought every second of it."

"I don't believe you."

"You will when you get home."

Apparently he does just that.

The next morning, he finds her at her locker first thing and looks either really pleased or really amused. Or maybe a mix. He stops right beside her and says, "Did you really fucking cry?"

She nods, taking her English book out of her locker and dropping it into her bag. "A few times actually."

"You are insane." He shakes his head and still has that weird mix on his face. "She totally believed that shit."

"I _told _you," Rachel says smugly. "I knew it would work. I _told _you I'm talented. It's not my fault if you don't have faith in my abilities."

"Where did you even learn all that?"

Rachel sighs a little bit and looks at him pityingly. "I've had acting lessons since I was _two, _Noah."

"That's fucking crazy."

"If I'm going to be a star, I have to have the basics." She shrugs and then smiles brightly at him. "But yeah, it totally worked."

He smiles, too, and shakes his head again. "She was all over that shit… She kept telling me how I need to take care of you and like respect you. And all this bullshit. And then she said she really wants us to _work things out," _he uses air quotes there. "And she's gonna like pray or something for your parents to gain understanding or some bullshit."

Rachel smile gets even bigger. "She's going to get _God _on our side, Noah!" She's kidding, of course, and he laughs at her.

"I already told you. He's already _on _our side."

Rachel giggles, feeling much better than she has in weeks. Which is strange, of course, as she's at school, and this is usually the place she feels the worst. But that's okay.

"You should be totally impressed with me," she tells him, smirking. "I was absolutely flawless. I could have won an Oscar for that performance."

"I'm sure." He rolls his eyes, but then he smiles at her. "Here," and he holds his fist out for her to bump, and she stares at him for a second before reluctantly appeasing him. "Now blow it up," he tells her, and she follows him when lets his hand 'explode.'

And then she laughs and rolls her eyes. "That's so lame."

He stares at her in mock surprise for a second before finally giving into his own smile and nodding. "Yeah… Okay."

"There are much cooler things to do with your hands than _that," _she tells him pointedly, making sure to keep a very pleased smirk on her face.

And he returns it almost immediately, his eyes lighting up a little bit as he raises that single eyebrow. "Yeah? What, pray tell, are those things?"

"You said pray tell."

"I did." He flashes her another smirk. "I've been to English every day this whole week."

She giggles. "I'm so proud of you."

He nods. "Yeah, so now about those hands… What's cooler than fist bumping?"

He's leaning in really close to her, and she wants to kiss him but doesn't. Instead, she just keeps smiling at him as she slowly lifts his hand up in her own and turns it over. Then, with a quick glance down, she takes his pinky with her own and links them together.

He laughs almost immediately and yanks his hand away. "Fuck you," he says through his laughter, and she's still smiling. It's almost like it's impossible _not _to smile right now.

"What?" she asks innocently. "Santana taught me that."

"Yeah," he nods sarcastically. "I bet she did."

Rachel tries to grab his hand again, but he catches her instead, pulling her under his arm and hugging her to his side as they head down the hallway. It's not like it normally is when he has his arm around her at school- the lazy, almost thoughtless sort of arm around the shoulder. This one is tighter and more genuine- it's more like the kind that's usually reserved for times when they're alone and just having fun together. It almost seems like that now. Like they're all alone in the middle of the very crowded hallway.

It's awesome.

_She _doesn't make it to English that morning, but they _do _finally show up for Spanish. Mr. Schuester glares at them when they walk through the door, but they both ignore him (and everyone else) as they take their seats. And when Mr. Schue approaches them and asks if they've finally decided to start taking their education seriously, it's Puck who answers with a completely serious, "Yeah, I think God really wants us to succeed."

And Rachel laughs against her own better judgment and has to look down and pretend to be digging through her bag so that she doesn't actually see Mr. Schuester and become even more amused.

But she thinks his sentence is probably right- even in all its assery and total joking. If they can get God on their side, she's _positive _they can win her dads over.

… … …

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews on the last chapter! Phase two will commence shortly!


	26. Chapter 26

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

Rachel knows she's hit an all-time low when she's forced to ask Santana Lopez for help.

Yes, she and Santana have been getting along better lately. That's true. Well, it's sort of true. She and Santana have been _talking _more lately. She still finds herself on the receiving end of a multitude of insults and jabs about everything from her looks to her personality to her choice in men… But Santana's not actively trying to ruin her life anymore, so that's a plus at least. Rachel still won't come out and call them _friends, _but she thinks the insults are a little less heartfelt now.

Santana's always up for a challenge, though, and she loves performing in any capacity. She also likes lying, which makes her ideal for this particular task. And she hardly even sounds like she means it when she warns Rachel that she owes her now.

On Saturday morning at exactly eleven o'clock, Rachel hears her doorbell ring. She isn't surprised, of course, because the text message she received five minutes ago let her know that everything was in place and ready to proceed. She's upstairs curling her hair in what is a purposely late-started morning ritual. She listens and hears her dad open the door and then call up to her.

Rachel hums to herself as she heads downstairs and then acts a little surprised to see two Cheerios standing in her living room. Santana and Brittany both smile at her brightly, and if she hadn't planned this, she might be a little nervous.

"Rachel, I didn't know you had friends coming over."

"Umm…" Rachel pretends to be confused, but then introduces her _friends _to her father. "Dad, this is Santana and Brittany. You've probably seen them in glee."

He nods and smiles politely, but it's clear that he's not sure what they're doing there. Rachel can't blame him, considering the fact that this is _literally _the first time any girls have randomly shown up at her house. She's sort of disappointed that it's Saturday and that they're in regular clothes because she's sure the cheerleading uniforms would bewilder her dad even more.

"That's your dad?" Brittany asks, looking him up and down. Rachel's terrified of whatever is about to come out of her mouth, but she nods anyway. Brittany stares at him for a few seconds and then says, "You're black."

Santana looks like she wants to die, but Rachel glances at her dad and sees that he looks almost amused. "I am," he agrees.

Brittany looks at Rachel. "Are _you _black?"

"Maybe," Rachel says without pausing.

Santana actually snorts, and Rachel sees her dad's almost amused look turn into fully amused. Brittany just looks completely confused, though, and she's staring at Rachel closely, obviously trying to determine what race she is.

"We just wanted to see if you could help us with the glee assignment," Santana breaks into the conversation before Brittany thinks too hard and breaks something. "If you're not busy or anything."

"Sure!" Rachel says happily, but then she lets her face fall just slightly and looks at her dad. "I mean, if that's okay," she says, frowning.

He smiles at her, though, and nods. "It's fine," he tells her, the prospect of her having girlfriends obviously making him forget all about the fact that she's grounded until she's thirty.

Rachel returns the smile, feigning gratefulness but also mixing in a bit of satisfaction with herself. She knew it would work. She plasters on an appropriately excited face and invites the girls upstairs. "We can go to my room," she says quickly. "I've got tons of sheet music and a keyboard in there. If we need to use the piano, we can come back down later."

Santana and Brittany both play their roles well and smile at her dad as they follow her toward the stairs.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Berry," Santana supplies politely, and he returns the smiles and nods.

"You girls have fun."

When they're on the stairs, Brittany looks at Rachel and asks, "So if he's Mr. Berry… What is the other one called?"

"The other what?"

"Don't you have two dads?"

Rachel nods.

"So what's the other one?"

"He's Berry."

"His name is Barry Berry?" Brittany stops at the top of the stairs and looks like it's physically hurting her to figure it out.

Rachel sighs and shakes her head. "No. Both their last names are Berry," she says slowly.

"But this is Ohio."

Rachel has no idea what she's talking about, and she looks at Santana for help. Luckily, Santana is more versed in Britt-speak and is able to translate.

"Brittany, they're not married," she says flatly. "It's Ohio, you're right. They probably just like got their names fucking changed or something at the courthouse."

Rachel nods, grateful that Santana is able to make more sense. She can't believe she's _grateful _about anything in regards to Santana. Her life has reached new depths of desperation. She lets them in her room and ignores the way Santana's face lights up in sick pleasure, already guessing that she's about to hear a million different insults about her room's décor.

Brittany, though, doesn't allow it. "What if your name was Straw?" she asks, and then she giggles. "Then you'd be _Straw _Berry."

Rachel is less amused. "Why would my name be Straw?"

"Because it's funny," Brittany shrugs.

"Maybe because they knew what your hair would look like?" Santana raises her eyebrows, and Rachel rolls her eyes. It says something, too, that she's at a point where rolling her eyes to Santana Lopez's face is an actuality.

She chooses not to comment, though, and, instead, closes the door to her bedroom and joins the other girls who are making themselves comfortable on her bed. "We'll have to sing at least a little," she tells them. "That way my dad can hear it, and he won't be suspicious."

"I still don't get how you have two dads," Brittany's forehead wrinkles. "And that Vocal Adrenaline lady is your mom. I mean… I don't get it. You don't _look_ black."

Santana once again steps in. "Brittany, forget it," she says firmly. "Her dads are gay. They supplied the ingredients. Vocal Adrenaline lady just baked the cake. And she's not black." Brittany still looks thoroughly confused, but Santana is apparently done with the conversation, as she turns back to Rachel and skips straight to the point. "Have you talked to Puck?"

Rachel nods. "I talked to him when I woke up. He said to just text him when we're ready."

"So how long do you think we need to stay here singing to make this shit look legit?"

Rachel shrugs. "Maybe thirty minutes or so."

Santana sits up straight and slaps her knees. "Well, let's get going before I start having some sort of pastel-induced seizure from being in this room."

"I thought we were gonna have cake." Brittany still looks worried, and Rachel and Santana both sigh loudly and in unison.

They spend the next half-hour singing a random mix of their current glee songs. Well, Rachel sings. Santana joins in occasionally when she isn't busy eyeing various items around the bedroom and snickering to herself. Brittany rarely ever sings, no matter where they are, and Rachel's not really surprised that she's far too distracted by all the new opportunities for obvious confusion she's just been handed.

Santana ends up in Rachel's closet at one point, and she takes a break from criticizing its contents to grab her phone when it starts beeping.

"It's Puck," she announces, flipping the cover up. Rachel glances at her own phone and sees no missed calls or texts, and she tries her best to keep her jealousy as hidden as possible. She doesn't want to give Santana any reason to gloat or anything to hold over her head. She's not exactly sure that she really has any _reason _to be annoyed that her boyfriend is texting other girls instead of her, but she's pretty sure there's an unspoken rule about it.

Santana doesn't bother reading the text out loud and goes straight into typing back a response. Rachel really can't take it anymore, and she comes right out and asks what the text says.

"He just wants to know where the hell we are," Santana snaps her phone closed again. "And seriously, what the hell are we still doing here?"

"We have to make it believable."

"Yeah, well, it's pretty believable by now. We've been in here for like a long ass time, and seriously?" Santana raises her eyebrows unenthusiastically as she glances around the room. "This place is making me nauseous."

Rachel decides to ignore the jab at her décor. "What if my dad doesn't let me go?"

"He'll let you go. Jesus, go downstairs and cry or some shit."

Rachel doesn't even go into all the reasons why that won't work. If her father's set on holding up the grounding thing, he's not going to relent over a few tears. As easily as her tears and acting might be able to fool some people, her parents are the ones who paid for all those acting lessons… They know those fake tears better than anyone, and they don't often fall for them.

"Let's go, I'm hungry." Brittany lets out a loud sigh and falls sideways onto the bed dramatically. "I want cake."

Rachel ignores her, and Santana just smiles and placates her. "We'll get you some cake, Britt."

"Okay, I'm going to ask him," Rachel says, standing up and popping her fingers unconsciously. "I'll be right back."

"We'll be here trying not to turn into fucking Rainbow Brite." Santana flashes a terrifyingly sweet smile, and Rachel leaves, trying not to think of all the things they're going to say about her and her room the second she's out of earshot.

She finds her dad downstairs watching some basketball game. She neither knows nor cares who's playing, but she drops onto the sofa and curls up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder just like she used to do when she was little.

"What do you want?" he asks skeptically, looking down at her as she beams up at him. Of her parents, he's the harder one to work over, but he can turn into a giant teddy bear if she gets it right.

"Can I go to lunch?" she asks nicely, never wavering on the smile.

"With those girls?" He raises his eyebrows at her, and she nods. "Do you even like them?"

"They're my friends," she says, not knowing for one second if this is a true statement. "I mean, they're the nicest people in glee." Santana is, in fact, probably the _least _nicest person in glee, but he doesn't need to know that.

"Aren't they the cheerleaders?" She nods again, and he purses his lips. "Isn't that dark-haired one the one who started all of this in the first place between you and Finn?"

Rachel stares at him, shocked that he knows this. She doesn't know _how _he knows this, and she asks him.

"Rachel, I'm observant," he says. "You cried about it for days, I remember it fairly well."

She supposes he's right, but she still hates him a little bit for being so involved and actually like _caring _enough to know details like that. She quickly brushes over it, though, and just shrugs. "Santana was just upset," she defends easily. "She didn't mean to hurt anyone, she just… That's how she defends herself."

Yeah, _right _Santana didn't mean to hurt anyone… Rachel's surprised God doesn't strike her down for lying so blatantly. Still, she has to make it seem realistic, and she doesn't think her dad would buy into the truth- that Santana has taken to treating her like a puppy dog she can dress up in little outfits and carry around in her purse for no apparent reason. Hell, Rachel herself doesn't even know why it's happening.

Her dad shakes her head. "Honey, haven't we been over how you need to be more careful when choosing your friends?"

Rachel grinds the back of her teeth a little bit but stops because she knows it's bad, and she's very concerned about her oral health. "Daddy," she says slowly, controlling her voice carefully, "Brittany and Santana are nice to me. We just want to go to lunch. And then maybe over to Santana's to practice some more."

"Are her parents going to be home?"

Rachel wants to scream. It's the middle of the afternoon- who _cares _if her parents are going to be home? Still, she knows better than to get smart with her father when she's trying to talk him into something. "Her dad probably will," she lies expertly- honestly, she has no _idea _what Mr. Lopez gets up to in the middle of a Saturday afternoon, but she knows for a fact that he's not there right now. "Her mom's a surgeon, so she works every weekend." There's really no need to throw that last part in there, but she figures that it can't hurt. After all, doctors and lawyers get along, right? They have a mutual respect for each other? She doesn't really know, but she figures it's worth a shot on her dad.

It works. Her father looks impressed and asks what type of surgeon she is (plastic) and where she works (private practice) and a bunch of other stuff that Rachel's just lucky enough to know. It doesn't matter, though, because in the end, he relents and tells her she can go. He warns her to be home in time for dinner, though, and she nods, kissing him on the cheek before running back upstairs to her room.

Santana and Brittany are making out on her bed.

Rachel doesn't know what to do, so she just stops and lets her mouth fall open as she stares in shock. Then she closes her eyes as if that will somehow make the image disappear. It sort of works, though, because when she opens them, they've stopped making out, and Santana's standing up, throwing her hair over her shoulder, and rolling her eyes.

"Oh, big deal, like you've never seen your dads getting it on," she snaps, and Rachel honestly cringes at the mental image.. "We're fucking bored. Are you ready yet?"

Rachel just nods dumbly.

"Thank god," Santana grabs her purse and then grabs Brittany's hand and pulls her to her feet. "One more minute in here, and I swear I'm gonna start puking up Starbursts."

"Then you can really taste the rainbow," Brittany giggles, but Santana shakes her head. 

"Honey, that's Skittles."

"Oh."

Rachel just shakes her head. "Could you guys _not _do that in my room?" she asks quietly, and she's met with another pair of rolling brown eyes.

"Oh, right, Miss Innocence over here with no gag reflex."

Rachel's mouth drops open again for the second time in just a matter of seconds. She's literally speechless, and Santana laughs at her obviously mortified reaction.

"Baby, your boyfriend has a big mouth," she says with just a hint of condescending cockiness. "Well, so do you, from what I hear," she throws in as an after-thought.

Rachel wants to die. Or possibly kill someone. Or a couple of someones. She honestly doesn't know who she wants to kill most, but she figures it probably doesn't matter anyway. She knows enough _not _to let on about too much of her embarrassment. Santana _feeds _off of weakness, and even if they're semi-friends, Rachel's not dumb enough to think that she won't swoop in and enjoy this one to its fullest.

So she walks out of her room without them. She honestly _cannot _believe that this is her life at the moment. She doesn't know when or how any of this happened, and she still isn't sure whether she likes it, hates it, or is just plain _scared _of it. She hears Brittany and Santana bounding down the stairs after her, and she waves at her dad as they head out the front door and to Santana's car.

This whole thing is not _exactly _a lie.

They are actually going to lunch. They're just not really going by themselves. They're also not going to an actual restaurant. The part about Santana's was true, though, and it takes less than five minutes of driving and Lady Gaga before they're pulling up in front of an overly-large house that practically _screams _pretention. Rachel's never been here before, but she's not really surprised, either. It's not as big as Quinn's house, but it's obvious that the Lopezes aren't exactly hurting for money.

"Text that asshole and tell him we're here," Santana orders as she lets them in through the front door and throws her keys and purse onto the couch. She kicks her shoes off, and Rachel watches as Brittany does the same and then falls into one of the overstuffed chairs.

Rachel knows who _that asshole _is, and given the fact that he's obviously been gossiping about her and sharing things that she'd rather not have the whole world know, she's inclined to agree with the nickname. And when he shows up twenty minutes later and follows the exact same pattern of kicking his shoes off and slumping down into one of the chairs, she's all but certain that this is very obviously familiar territory she's not at all familiar with.

Santana serves them a mixture of bagel bites, tequila, and orange juice. Rachel thinks it sounds like a particularly disgusting combination and chooses not to have any of (not that it's all that cohesive to her normal diet anyway…), but she's the only one who doesn't seem to think it's like the best idea ever or something. Brittany and Santana, to be as thin as they are, can eat a ridiculous amount of food and also have no qualms whatsoever about drinking large amounts of alcohol in the middle of the day. They're not the only ones, either, but Rachel is less surprised about the other member of their group because she's witnessed overeating and midday drinking too many times. She, on the other hand, sips a bottle of water and probably plays right into every single stereotype Santana has of her.

She feels out of place, which isn't surprising given the fact that she _is _out of place. These three are from the same branch, and she's not even from the same _forest. _It's interesting, though, to watch the dynamic and see firsthand how Puck and Santana act around each other away from school. It's exactly the same way they act around each other _at _school. And Rachel can't figure out whether that's a good thing. She's not exactly worried because she trusts them both for some strange reason and doesn't actually think either of them would deliberately hurt her- at least not now. It's still weird, though, to watch their dynamic and see how they go from hatefully cussing at each other one second to laughing together and being BFF the next. She's never seen anything like it, but it makes her feel a little left out because she's never had that level of pure comfort with anyone, and she sort of wishes she knew what it was like. They are so _mean _to each other, and then they're best friends in the very next moment. It's the weirdest thing ever, and Rachel has no idea what to do with it.

She gets distracted, though, when the rest of them have all had a couple of drinks and become a little more relaxed. The distraction comes in the form of a hand that's sliding around her waist and brushing up against the skin of her stomach. And even though that hand spends plenty of time against her skin, she's still seventeen and made up of a majority of hormones. And despite the fact that she hasn't had the first drop of alcohol, she somehow feels drunk enough to _not _care about making out in front of an audience on a Cheerio's couch. Normally, she's not at all into public displays of affection, but she's making an exception at the moment, and she's nearly positive that it's not about marking territory. It's _not. _Not totally anyway.

It's all brought to an abrupt halt, though, when the distinct sounds of vomiting (or _fake _vomiting). Rachel turns her head just in time to see Santana stand up and feign gagging. "Get the fuck out of my house before I puke all over my dad's new rug." She rolls her eyes and points at the door, and it's almost comical in a very over-dramatic sort of way.

Puck tells her to shut the fuck up and then smirks and asks if she wants to join in. Rachel hits him, and Santana fakes vomiting again. "I'd pretty much rather kill myself, but thanks."

But that's what this is all about anyway- getting out of Santana's house and finally having more than forty-five minutes of skipped Spanish alone. There's a lot they need to discuss and plan. Rachel's fully aware that he doesn't want to _plan _anything when they make it out to his truck and head off on a pretty much aimless drive. She gets that loud and clear by the way his hand almost immediately starts wandering, and she literally has to grab it and hold it between both of her own hands to keep it still. He's not drunk, but he's had a couple of drinks. She doesn't need him anymore distracted than absolutely necessary. Because she's really _not _prepared to die today.

It's the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday. Lima's a pretty small town. Rachel realizes for the first time that they really don't have anywhere to go. Skipping school is one thing because they can always just go to one of their houses, but that's not going to work today. Her dad's at home on the couch where she left him, and his mom and Bekah are both at his house. She's supposed to be eating lunch with her girlfriends, and he's supposed to be at a study group for history- (She wonders if his mom even _remotely _believes that). Regardless, though, they don't have a lot of options. They settle on the park because they both figure it'll be pretty much deserted, given the fact that it's the middle of the winter and _freezing. _There's snow on the ground and slush all over the streets. It's disgusting, and anybody with an ounce of sense will be avoiding the park on days like today.

Except them, of course, but maybe they don't have too much sense after all.

She forgets to care when he puts the truck in park and leaves the heater running. She's too busy focusing on the fact that he's kissing her and whispering, "I missed you," against her lips. She'll blame it on the small amount of tequila he's ingested because she doesn't think he'd say anything close to that without at least a little bit of alcohol. Even if it's not enough to get him anywhere close to drunk, she knows he needs somewhere to lay the blame. It's especially ridiculous considering the fact that it's been less than twenty-four hours since they've seen each other. But she thinks it might be the sweetest thing ever.

She lets him kiss her for a good ten minutes, and she really thinks the fact that he doesn't even _try _to do anything else speaks more clearly than any words out of his mouth could. But it's that thought about _anything else _that reminds her that she's mad at him, and she shoves him away a little too roughly and glares at him. He's shocked, of course, and he stares at her in confusion.

"Why are you talking to Santana about me?" she asks point-blankly, crossing her arms over her chest and keeping her gaze fixed evenly.

He just shakes his head, though, obviously still confused (or possibly just pretending). "What the hell are you talking about?"

So she tells him about Santana's little comment from earlier, and the little smirk that plays at his lips absolutely _infuriates _her. "That's not something you should be talking about!" she says seriously. "That's private!"

But he just smirks again and rolls his eyes. "Rach, it's Santana." She just looks at him, and he shakes his head. "She's been doing that shit since we were like _twelve, _okay? It's not that big of a deal."

She wants to tell him that yes, it sure the hell _is _a big deal because she doesn't want her personal business spread. She also wants to tell him that she's still not fully comfortable with the whole him and Santana dynamic situation anyway and she doesn't appreciate them talking about her behind her back. Or talking about anything really. She wants to say all the things any normal girl _should _say in this situation, but the only thing that comes out is, "_Twelve? _Are you joking?"

But he just shrugs like it's the most normal thing in the world. "She didn't actually let me get it in til we were fourteen."

Rachel has no idea why this conversation is even taking place. It's too weird for words, and she's not all that comfortable hearing about his sexual history even if she knows plenty of it already. She knew _that _part already. It's just… Twelve? Twelve is too young for _anything, _and she tells him so.

"Oh, my god, you guys are like walking statistics."

"My whole life's an after-school special, baby." But then he smiles at her, that smile that always makes her crazy, and she feels herself melt a little bit. "Drugs, alcohol, sex too young… Criminal record, teen pregnancy… It's really tragic."

She wants to tell him that even though he's being sarcastic, he's also telling every bit of the truth. He _is _tragic. He's grinning at her, though, and she loses that train of thought. And before she can move her mouth and tell him to stop doing that, he's got it under his own and is sliding one hand into her hair. And she's pretty sure that if she lets him go on for too long, they'll end up getting arrested for public indecency.

She's also kind of sure she doesn't care.

Still, she finds her head and pulls back just a little. "Noah… We need to work on the plan."

"I know," he tells her, dropping back in for another kiss. "We will… I just wanna stop missing you first."

And she knows he's _totally _trying to seduce her and sweet-talk her. She also knows she doesn't care. If he can make her feel like that with one sentence, she'll let him seduce her as long as he wants.

And she's already been to jail once, so if they _do _get arrested for public indecency, she's pretty sure she can survive.

… … …

A/N: Sooooo…. Sorry for the delay in update! I really wanted this whole story finished by the time the second season started, but then I ended up having surgery and everything kind of got pushed back. But there's not too much left, and I'm glad to be back. Hope you liked this, and thanks for reading and reviewing!


	27. Chapter 27

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

They have their first fight on Wednesday.

Well, obviously it's not their _first _fight, but it's the first real one they've had since they've actually been together. Rachel's not so sure how it turns so bad so fast, but it happens in the parking lot after school when she's waiting for her dad and he's on his way to basketball practice. They can usually catch each other in the hallway for a few minutes before she goes outside. When she sees him, though, she can tell something's wrong. He looks pissed off and not in the mood to chit chat. She stops him anyway, of course, and asks what's wrong.

"Nothing." It's a flat answer that she doesn't buy for a second. She can obviously tell that something's wrong, and she doesn't really appreciate being lied to.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," he says again, and she doesn't miss the way he looks over her head when he says it.

"Okay. I guess that nasty look on your face is just your new signature?"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Rachel. Just leave me alone for like five seconds, okay?"

She is _not _going to be talked to like that, and she honestly doesn't give a crap what's got him in a piss poor mood if he's going to act like that. So she purses her lips and turns to head off in the opposite direction. She hears him sigh loudly behind her, and then she hears his footsteps as he catches up to her.

"Shit. _Sorry," _he barks out, and it doesn't even sound the least bit sincere. She keeps walking. "Shit, Rachel. I said sorry, _fuck."_

"That doesn't excuse you acting like a total _jackass _just because I was _concerned." _She stops walking and snaps her head to glare at him.

"I told you I was fucking fine," he says, and she can tell he's gritting his teeth a little bit. "Just let it go, damn."

"There you go again." She waves a hand aimlessly toward his face. "If you can't speak to me like a civilized human being, don't speak to me at all."

She isn't sure what's got her so immediately angry, but she doesn't put up with moodiness very well, and she refuses to be disrespected by someone who is supposed to care about her. She's over being treated badly. As much shit as she's gone through the past year, she better get to be Barbra fucking Streisand in her next life.

"Would you stop being such a fucking drama queen?" he snaps, and she catches the eye roll just in time to spin back around.

"I told you not to speak to me like that," she says firmly. "I don't care who you are or how you normally speak to people, you're not going to do it with me."

If he's surprised, he doesn't show it. If he's _impressed, _he doesn't show it. He can have the credit. He's the one who taught her to stand up for herself. She thinks he doesn't really want it, though.

He's just rolling his eyes again and putting on his best couldn't care less face. It infuriates her. She thinks he's just going to give it up and walk away, which will piss her off even more. But then he somehow manages to do something even worse.

"Whatever. Maybe _you _shouldn't speak to _me _until you're off the fucking rag and normal again. Or like at least not as batshit as this." He waves his hand at her the same way she did toward him seconds earlier. "Because god knows you're fucking crazy anyway."

She walks away then. She walks away before she starts yelling and embarrasses herself or before she starts crying and _humiliates _herself. She takes in careful even breaths as she makes her way toward the parking lot, and she can't decide whether to be relieved or hurt when she doesn't hear his footsteps chasing after her.

Her dad's waiting for her in the parking lot, so she puts on the best mask she can and smiles when she gets in the car. He kisses the top of her head as she leans over to tell him hello, and he has no idea that she's just had a thirty second fight with a boy who has somehow managed to get in her head a lot more than she would like.

That night, after she's done with her voice lessons, she eats dinner with her parents and watches the ABC comedy lineup. She leaves her phone in her room and refuses to go up to check it the entire night. She doesn't want to speak with anyone, and she doesn't want to know if they're calling. She's not in the mood to deal with the drama, which is a rarity for her because drama is generally her drug of choice.

Finally, though, she goes upstairs to take a shower, and she glances at her phone out of habit. There are no missed calls, but there are nine texts. She debates whether she should even read them, but, of _course, _she knows that's silly and that she has no real choice. The first few are apologetic- the very first one just simply says, _"I'm sorry." _Then next couple aren't quite as apologetic and more along the lines of, _"Ignoring me is fucked up." _The last one is just plain pissed off- _"You're being fucking ridiculous, get the hell over it."_ Or at least that's how she translates it- it's difficult with all the horrid spelling and text-speak, but she's getting better.

She doesn't type a response to any of them.

The next morning, she purposely avoids everywhere she'll know he'll be, which mean she goes to Spanish. She doesn't think for a second that he's actually going to show up because he hates that class on normal days. He's sure as hell not going to show up when they're in the middle of a fight. But, unfortunately, Noah Puckerman is nothing if not unpredictable. He shows up to class, walks right by her without even sparing a glance, and then sits down at his old table with the Cheerios. She wants to turn around and possibly stab him with her Number 2, but she doesn't. She keeps her composure and even manages to pay attention and learn something. She finds that it's much easier to concentrate when nobody's hand is trying to slip between her knees.

She is actually surprised that he doesn't even _try _to catch up with her after class. She even purposely takes her time packing up her things to give him a chance, but he just leaves without saying anything to her, and she has to do her very best not to show how affected she is because Mr. Schue is watching curiously, and she knows he's just dying to find out what's going on. She's certainly not going to be the one to tell him, though, so she just heads out with her head bent over her phone, attempting to appear as though she's otherwise occupied.

Two things happen before lunch.

One, she sees Finn and Quinn with their arms around each other as they head toward the science wing. She feels sick and sad and more than a little jealous. The general consensus, at least according to Santana, is that Finn and Quinn are _not _back together. She says they are _just friends _and that Quinn has sworn off boys. Then, of course, in the very next breath, she's going on and on about what a whore Quinn is and how she's trying to steal everybody else's men like some low-rent skank. So… Really, Rachel can't keep up.

What she _does _know is that she hasn't witnessed any kissing or handholding. Finn and Quinn are spending quite a bit of time together, but apart from a little bit of abnormal closeness, nothing really appears out of the ordinary. Of course, this whole walking together with their arms around each other thing is new and makes Rachel more than a little uncomfortable. It's not like she can just come out and ask if they're together, though. Finn barely speaks to her anymore, which is weird since he was so adamant about them becoming friends again when she spoke with him before Christmas break. Apparently, though, everything that happened _during _Christmas break has apparently changed his mind. They don't really associate at all outside of glee anymore, and even then, it's usually just forced singing and then awkward away glances. She'd say she's sick of it, but can't pretend like it doesn't sting a little bit.

She's at her locker on her way to the cafeteria when the second interesting development happens.

She's stopped there because she's trying to kill time. If she spends enough time digging through her homework, she might be able to avoid the cafeteria altogether and waste her lunch period without purposely wasting it. She doesn't want to go in there and try to find somewhere to sit. She doesn't want to sit by herself, and she doesn't want to beg some of the other losers for a seat at their table. She'd rather just not go at all. She's doing a good job, she's probably wasted about seven or eight minutes so far, and if she can just make it another twenty or so, she'll be golden.

It doesn't turn out so golden, though, when she hears a less than friendly voice behind her. She turns around to see Dave Karofsky smirking at her, and she wonders why he isn't at lunch. As far as she can tell, he's never passed up a chance to eat in his entire life.

"So you done with Puckerman yet?" he asks snidely. She stares at him because she knows he's an asshole, and she's just waiting for whatever his point is. "Who's next on the roster? You're just moving through the team, right?"

Rachel turns back to her locker, refusing to respond and wishing he'd just go away and leave her alone. She can't decide if him speaking is better or worse than him throwing slushies. She sort of thinks it's worse.

"I'm just saying," he goes on, and she sort of wants to puke, "don't count out the rest of us. We all know you like handcuffs."

Rachel draws in a breath and is just about to lose her composure, turn around, and go off, but she gets beaten to it by a much more familiar voice.

"Hey, limp dick!" She turns around just in time to see Santana stop right beside them and cross her arms over her chest. "Why don't you move along and pick on somebody your own size? Oh, wait," she shakes her head, "You can't. Chris Farley is already dead."

Karofsky looks annoyed but covers it up by going on the offensive. "Oh, I didn't realize you had a new BFF," he says condescendingly. Then he looks at Rachel and snorts. Santana, though, just shrugs her shoulders and raises her eyebrows.

"And?" she asks expectantly. "Keep talking shit, Karofsky. I fucking dare you."

"That stupid _glee club _really did make you _all _gay for each other. Damn, Lopez, you used to be hot."

Santana, apparently not one to appreciate the words _used to be _and _hot _in the same sentence, barely even blinks before she aims a sharp kick to the most sensitive spot she can find. Karofsky immediately doubles over and clutches at himself as tears spring to his eyes and he bites out a strangled, "What the fuck?"

Santana, though, she smiles and shrugs again. "You shouldn't talk so much shit."

"Bitch."

"Fat fuck," she shoots right back, and then she reaches over and slams Rachel's locker shut before grabbing her elbow and pulling her away.

Rachel goes along obediently (partly because she's being pulled). She isn't sure what to say, so she just mumbles, "Thanks," and wonders if she's overstepping some weird invisible boundary.

Santana just shrugs and flips her ponytail. Her grip on Rachel's elbow loosens slightly, and it almost feels like a moment. But Santana can't take that, of course, so she ends it by saying, "Did you grab your hand mixer instead of your curling iron this morning? Because your hair looks like shit."

Rachel says nothing and tries very hard to hide the slight smile that threatens to break at the insult.

She makes it to the last fifteen minutes of lunch, and she finds herself in the surreal situation of sitting with a group of Cheerios. She isn't welcomed with open arms by any means, but Santana has enough power that no one is outright evil to her. Brittany offers her half an orange, and she takes it without really looking anywhere else. She doesn't see Puck. She doesn't see Finn or Quinn or any of the other people she was trying to avoid minutes before. She only sees Brittany, who is sharing her thoughts on why plain yogurt doesn't taste like frozen yogurt when it's cold, and Santana who is filing her nails and checking her lipgloss in her compact.

Later, when she makes it to glee, she wonders if he's even going to acknowledge her. He hasn't made any effort to speak to her all day, he hasn't even sent a text telling her she's how annoying she is for trying to avoid him. He's just let her go about her day and hasn't tried to intervene in any way. She's starting to get sick of it. It's not like she needs to be begged or anything. She doesn't like hold any of that as really important. It's just that it would be nice to know he at least cares. She doesn't like being ignored.

She's the first one to the choir room, of course, which isn't surprising because everyone else spends the half hour between the final bell and the start of practice conversing in the hallway or the parking lot or making a quick trip to 7-11 for some after-school sustenance. She's not alone for long, though. Mercedes and Tina show up, and they both sort of glance at her but don't really say anything. She doesn't care because it's not abnormal. The majority of the club hasn't forgiven her for quitting or for any of the other million things she's apparently done to make them hate her. She doesn't let it bother her, she just digs through the sheet music and tries to find things that she likes so that she can store them toward the front of the drawer.

A few more people show up, but it isn't until Puck shows up attached to Santana that Rachel takes any interest. Well, perhaps _attached _is a poor word choice. She's got his elbow and appears to be dragging him the same way she dragged Rachel earlier. He doesn't seem nearly as happy to be controlled, though, and he keeps yanking his arm away every time she grabs it. Rachel can't hear what they're saying because their voices are low, but Santana is angry about something, and her neck keeps rolling for emphasis. He either doesn't care or just isn't scared of Santana because he is arguing right back, glaring, and pulling away from her grasp constantly.

Rachel's not the only one watching, but she's the only one not rolling her eyes. Maybe that's because she's the only one who actually cares about what's being said. She has to commend them, though, for keeping their voices so quiet that even when people are actively listening, it's still impossible to hear what's being said. Neither one of them are normally very good at keeping their voices down, especially when arguing.

She's distracted, though, because Finn shows up and actually walks up to her, which is surprising given the fact that he rarely speaks to her. She looks at him, and he just goes right into whatever he needs to say.

"Hey, Mr. Schue got sick before last period, and he just texted me and said we can decide whether to practice or just hold off. What do you wanna do?"

She tries not to be disappointed that the only thing he has to speak to her about is glee. That's what every single one of their conversation centers around these days. She should be used to it. Trying to remain as unaffected as possible, she glances around him.

"Everyone's already here almost. We might as well just stay."

He nods. "Yeah, that's what I was thinking."

She wonders then why he bothered asking her opinion. They _are _co-captains, though, so maybe he's actually trying to be a good teammate and converse with her civilly. He goes on after that, talking about what songs they should work on and how they should probably work in sections for harmonizing purposes. She doesn't actually have the chance to be impressed that he's come so far as to know that pitch-perfect individual sections are key for good harmonizing. Instead, she glances behind him again and sees that Santana is sitting down beside Mike with her arms crossed tightly over her chest and a nails-spitting look on her face. Meanwhile, Puck is looking straight over to where Rachel and Finn are standing, and he doesn't look pleased.

Rachel, though, is quite pleased.

Maybe she shouldn't take so much pleasure in good old-fashioned jealousy, but she can't help it. She also can't help playing into it a little bit, so she purposely turns her attention fully to Finn and tries to be interested in whatever he's blabbering on about. It's sort of easy to remember why she fell so hard for him when she pays attention to the way he slips over his words a little bit and how cute he is when he smiles. It makes her smile as well, and she nods in agreement to whatever he's talking about. She isn't even sure at this point, but she doubts that it really matters.

Halfway through practice, they're split up into sections, and she's working with Tina and Quinn on the soprano part of Mr. Schue's latest idea to have them sing a small selection of traditional mixed choir hymns. Rachel isn't sure that they've got enough voices to pull it off, but she's willing to try at least. It's difficult to concentrate, though, because Quinn's voice really bugs her, and she's never really noticed before. She isn't sure if maybe she's just not doing a good job on this particular piece or if she actually sucks, but it's very difficult not to open her mouth and just come out and say it. Somehow, though, she doubts doing so would go over too well. Instead, she just sings louder in an attempt to drown her out. Across the room, she can tell that the tenors are doing pretty horribly without even hearing them. Puck looks bored and possibly like he's not participating at all, Finn looks pissed off that he has to be in the same vicinity (Rachel wonders if he forgot about that when he made the suggestion), and Kurt looks equally unenthused. This is all going perfectly…

Rachel can't believe she's actually wishing to be an alto just so she could be with Santana and Brittany. Life has definitely changed.

Finally, Rachel announces to her group that she has to go to the bathroom and excuses herself. She doesn't really, but she just can't take it anymore. She needs a break before she snaps on Quinn for being terrible. She's not even sure that Quinn _is _terrible- she's a little afraid that she's just jealous and is projecting her dislike onto vocal ability. It scares her a little bit that she can't even fully trust her own ear anymore.

While she's standing in the empty bathroom washing her hands for no real reason, she hears footsteps coming down the hallway. The school's mostly deserted, so it makes them more pronounced. When she hears the door of the bathroom being pushed open, she glances up in the mirror and sees Puck looking just as annoyed as she feels.

"Girls' bathroom," she says without hesitation and without turning around. She's not sure why.

He just shrugs, which is more than he's done the rest of the day, so maybe it's a start.

"What are you doing here?" She finally turns around just as he leans back against the wall and half-sits on the heater.

"I think I'm leaving. This is stupid, Finn's being a dick, and it's just a waste of time."

She's surprised that he's speaking, especially in so many words. He doesn't even really sound angry at her, and she can't decide whether she's pleased or pissed off that he thinks he can just start speaking to her again so normally as if they haven't just been in a fight.

"I had to get out of there," she admits quietly. "Quinn sounds like a cat being murdered."

He laughs a little and raises an eyebrow. "Quinn's not that bad."

"She's not?" He shakes his head, and she frowns. "Oh, my god. Dislike is overpowering my ear."

He seems amused by that, though she can't imagine why.

"It's not funny, Noah. I have _perfect pitch!" _

"So I've heard." She's almost pleased until he finishes. "Over and over and over and over…"

"What are you doing here?" she asks again, mostly so she doesn't kill him.

He reaches for her wrist and pulls her toward him until she's right in front of him, and all she can do is look at him. "Look, I'm sorry about yesterday," he says, and he actually sounds like he means it. She'd have a much easier time staying mad if she could remember what the argument was actually _about, _but right now it just seems silly. "I know I was an asshole."

"I was just concerned," she defends because she's lying if she says she can't remember at least a little bit of the argument. Like the part where he called her batshit. "And I'm not crazy," she adds. "I don't like it when people say that." She thinks she must sound more defensive than she means to because he looks a little guilty.

"I know. I was just pissed off yesterday about something some asswipe said, and I took it out on you."

"That's not fair."

"I _know. _That's why I'm sorry."

"I wasn't ignoring you last night," and she's not even sure why she says it. "My phone was upstairs, and I didn't hear it. But then I saw how rude you were." She throws the last part in as an explanation as to why she didn't text him back. "So I didn't want to talk to you.'

He looks away and then looks back at her and sighs a little. "I'm gonna fuck it up tomorrow."

She shakes her head. "No, you're not."

Phase Two, as they've come to call it, is set to take place tomorrow night. Rachel's been meticulously planning it, but she's not actually participating. She can't fool her dads as well as she can fool everyone else. Besides, she's made her case a million different times, and it hasn't worked yet. She's still technically grounded (though being allowed to go and do most everything she pleases isn't what she imagined grounding to be), she still doesn't have her car back, and she's still forbidden from having anything to do with the boy currently holding her hand and trapping her between his legs. That's why she decided that it has to be him- _he's _the one who has to fix it with her dads, just like she fixed it with her mom. Her dads haven't cared at all about any of the lists or charts she's made that prove what a good guy he is and that he isn't the devil child they make him out to be. None of that matters to them. So he's got to show them firsthand.

"You're going to be fine," she tells him, and she runs her free hand over his head and down to rest on his shoulder. She gives him the best sort of winning smile that she can manage and kisses him quickly. She's not sure exactly when they made up, but she's sure that they have.

"Dads don't like me, Rachel. And you don't even have a mom I can charm. This shit's going to blow up in our faces."

She doesn't want to imagine how he might charm her mom. Instead, she just shakes her head. "You said that about Phase One, and look how moved your mom was."

"I haven't had acting classes since the fucking _womb_, Rachel. I'm gonna fuck it up."

"You'll be great. I'm telling you, they'll respect you for coming to them."

"So what am I supposed to do? Tell them how beautiful and perfect and brilliant and talented their daughter is? And then they'll just fall for it and be like, 'Sure, feel free to fuck her whenever you want!'? Is that what I'm supposed to do?"

She bites her lip and smiles. "Mostly. But tone it down on the whole perfect part- you can brag a little, but they're good at spotting lying." She laughs and leans down to kiss him again. This time instead of the short peck, though, he grabs her hip and holds her in place.

"Who said it was a lie?" And she can feel him smile against her lips.

Funny how one sentence can make a whole day full of shit just disappear.

… … …

A/N: Thanks for reading! And especially for the reviews!


	28. Chapter 28

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

It's Friday night. Rachel knows there's a party somewhere. There are _multiple _parties somewhere. Cheerios belong at parties. This is fact. Which is exactly why she's a little surprised that two of them are sitting in her bedroom.

Actually, though, Brittany and Santana have been there ever since school let out. Santana's even the one who brought her home in the first place, and the three of them have been hanging out ever since. Well, maybe hanging out is pushing it. Brittany's spent nearly the entire time on Facebook, and Santana keeps going back and forth between making disparaging remarks about Rachel's interior decorating skills and painting and repainting her nails. Rachel spends most of her own time on the phone finalizing Phase Two. She doesn't miss the amused smirks that Santana keeps shooting her, and she knows she's probably in for a barrage of shit talk the second she hangs up. So she excuses herself to finish the conversation in private.

"My dads still aren't home," she tells him as she leaves her room and heads down the hall to the guest room. "I don't know where they are, but I'm starting to get worried that they might not make it."

"There's still an hour before temple."

"Yeah, but they like to come home and shower and get ready. I don't even know where they are- they usually don't work this late on Fridays." She's starting to get really anxious, and apparently it's evident in her voice.

"Just chill out," he says blankly. "You're supposed to be the one calming me down."

"I'm just nervous," she says, walking over to the window to peer down the street for any sign of her parents. "I don't want anything to go wrong."

"Then you should be a lot more concerned about me. Because I'm a fuck up waiting to happen."

She sighs and rests her forehead against the window frame. "You'll be fine," she says for what seems like the billionth time.

He doesn't seem convinced, and she can't really blame him. Truthfully, she's a little nervous about it herself now that it's finally here. She thinks her dads will respect the fact that he has the decency to approach them like men about the subject, but the truth is, her dads think he's a 'lying asshole with no direction in life,' so she's not very sure how well it will all go over. Of course, she hasn't told _him _all of that because she knows he'll back out in a second if he feels threatened.

"What're Santana and Britt doing?"

"Just hanging out." She knows he's trying to distract her, but she cranes her neck some more, trying to see as far down the street as possible. "Brittany's on the computer, and Santana's doing her nails."

"You guys gonna make out soon?"

Rachel rolls her eyes and goes to sit on the bed. "We already did that," she says nonchalantly, and she hears him laugh.

"That'd be funny, you know, if it wasn't fucking hot. You shouldn't joke about that shit."

"I didn't say it was a joke."

He snorts again. "Yeah, right. You should totally try it, though. God, that'd be fucking hot."

"Why?" she asks, lying back against the pillows of the guest bed. "What's so hot about it anyway?"

"You guys are all hot. Hot girls should always kiss each other."

She wants to call him out on the double standard, but she gets caught on something else. "You think they're hot?"

She hears him groan, and she smiles to herself. He's talked himself into a hole, and he knows it. She really honestly doesn't care, but it's fun to watch him sweat. Or listen to him sweat anyway. She feels like he's about to feed her a whole meal's worth of bullshit, but the sound of a car has her interrupting him.

"My dad's home!" She jumps up to go back to the window and confirm.

"One down, one to go…" She can tell by his voice that his nerves are starting to return.

"It's going to be fine," she tells him with as much calm as she can. Really, she doesn't feel all that calm. She actually feels terrified, and it's a horrible thing. It's not that she doesn't trust him to hold up his end of the bargain and try to make nice with her parents… She just doesn't trust her _parents _enough not to shoot him down without even listening.

Normally they are very reasonable people, but she hasn't been able to make them see anything of reason at all since the whole jail thing. It's not that she can really blame them so much, but she also doesn't think they're setting the best example for her, either. They always preach about giving people the benefit of the doubt and accepting others no matter what, but they won't even pretend to listen to her when she tells him that there's a lot more to Noah Puckerman than they realize.

"I've got to go talk to my dad," she says, watching through the blinds as he gets out of his car and walks toward the house. "Call me as soon as you're finished."

He tells her that he will, and she wishes him good luck before she gets up and hurries downstairs to meet her father. He looks tired and maybe a bit annoyed as he sets his laptop bag and his keys down on the kitchen table. That's not a good sign, so she puts on her most uplifting look and bounds up to him sweetly.

"Guess what!" She says it with as much enthusiasm as she can manage, which is a lot considering the fact that there's really nothing to constitute over-enthusiasm. "I got my literary review back today. 99! That's the highest in the class!"

"That's great, baby!" He smiles at her, and she can tell it's taking effort. She knows he's either tired or had a bad day at work. Possibly both. He gets into a certain mood when court goes badly, and she can sense that mood coming on.

Not a great sign.

"Yeah, I was really happy," she goes on, pretending not to notice. "I mean, I worked really hard on that." She doesn't think bragging about her grades and proving that she's still a star student can possibly be a bad thing right now.

"I'm really proud of you." He goes to grab a bottle of water out of the fridge, and she leans against the counter. "Is Santana here? I saw her car in the driveway."

Rachel nods and bites her lip a little. "She and Brittany are upstairs. Is that okay? She brought me home because we had an extra glee practice." This is not technically a lie. Well, it wasn't exactly a _practice, _but they did meet for about fifteen minutes to go over some upcoming song selections.

Her dad just nods and still seems rather distracted. "Yeah, that's fine."

She tries not to be too pleased with the fact that she's apparently allowed to have friends over whenever she pleases even though she's still not been technically un-grounded. Brittany and Santana have become semi-regular fixtures at her house over the past couple of weeks, and it's both weird and sort of nice. She still isn't sure where she stands with them totally, but she doesn't think they really hate her.

"We're just going to hang out tonight. I don't think I'm going to go to temple…"

Her dad just nods, obviously distracted as he sips his water and digs through the pockets of his jacket. "Okay, I'll leave some money so you guys can get dinner."

And that's all she needs to hear. Him offering dinner money is confirmation that he'll be out of the house at temple, and she can only assume that means her other dad will be as well. She smiles up at him again, as brightly as she can, and then goes back upstairs to her room.

She's appalled to see Santana standing in the doorway of her closet wearing one of her favorite sweaters, a skirt, and a pair of socks that Rachel hasn't even managed to wear yet. Brittany must find it to be the funniest thing in the world because she's absolutely cracking up, and Santana is laughing, too, turning around to view herself from all angles in the mirror.

They both stop for about half a second when they notice Rachel, but they go straight back to laughing, and Santana rolls her eyes and tugs on the sweater.

"Seriously, Rachel? Whose fantasy are you trying to fulfill with this shit?" She snorts and shakes her head. "Even Puck isn't _this _freaky. And trust me, that dude can get into some kinky shit."

There are several different things Rachel wants to say all at once, but they all get lost when Santana actually giggles and says, "And I _really _doubt Finn's got it in him."

"Oh, you'd know about that, too."

Rachel's shocked to even hear the words slip out of her mouth, but she's honestly mad right now. Her temper is flaring, and she glares at Santana who actually looks shocked for a moment.

"Okay," she says, crossing her arms and staring Rachel back down. "Let's go ahead and talk about the huge elephant in the room."

"How did you fit an elephant in here?" Brittany looks in every direction, but both Rachel and Santana ignore her.

"Oh, you mean the fact that you slept with my boyfriend?" Rachel crosses her own arms, and Santana rolls her eyes.

"Oh, please, you're fucking _my _ex on a regular basis, so you lose the right to that argument. And also? Oh, my god, Rachel, you guys were on a break. Get _over _it!"

Rachel opens her mouth to say something back, but she's interrupted when Brittany giggles loudly. It's distracting, and she looks at her while Santana does the same thing. They both stare, and Brittany snickers again.

"I wish Finn's name was Ross. That would be so awesome."

There's silence for a few seconds as everyone stares at each other. Then it's over because they all have to laugh. Santana rolls her eyes, and Rachel bites down on her lip. This is stupid, and they all know it. Santana, though, must feel the need to finish her explanation.

"And anyway," she goes on, cutting out her giggling and putting her serious face back on, "that wasn't even about you. I mean, whatever, I didn't really _like _you all that much, but you totally weren't even on my radar."

Rachel kind of believes this. She's also suspicious, though. "So why did you do it?" she asks. "You don't even like Finn."

"I have no problem with Finn," Santana corrects her immediately. "I have never been particularly _attracted _to him because I'm not a giraffe or a giant, so it's awkward… But he's a nice guy."

"So it was just all random to you?" Rachel isn't really sure she wants to know the answer to these questions. It feels like opening up a wound that finally scabbed over, but maybe it's something they need to get out of the way.

Santana rolls her eyes for the millionth time and leans back against the dresser. She seems annoyed, but Rachel's starting to be able to tell when her annoyance is real and when it's faked and used as a defense mechanism.

"It's called _revenge," _she says evenly.

"Revenge on whom?"

And there goes the eye-rolling again. "On Puck and Quinn!" She shakes her head and flips her ponytail. "Why was Finn the only victim there? Um, hello, that asshole was dating _me _when that slut got herself knocked up."

"That's true," Brittany nods. And Santana gives her a small smile of thanks.

This revelation has honestly never crossed Rachel's mind. Maybe it's because she never paid any attention to Puck and Santana pre-glee (whenever they weren't throwing things at her obviously), but she realizes it's true. They were dating at the beginning of last year. She knows because she used to eavesdrop on Finn and Quinn a lot in her early stalking days, and they were always going out with Puck and Santana. Of course, Santana wasn't lied to about a _baby, _but it still had to be pretty awful.

"Not that either of them gave a shit about Finn, _obviously_," Santana goes on, "but at least I got the satisfaction of getting back at them a little. Fuck my boyfriend, and I'll fuck yours."

Santana's so confident with herself. Rachel doesn't know how much of it is real, but she's at least a very good faker. That would be an excellent quality to have, and Rachel wishes she had even a little bit of that confidence. Instead, all she's got is self-doubt that's suddenly heightened.

"Is he going to cheat on me?" she asks quietly, and she realizes that leaving herself so vulnerable is a recipe for disaster in this situation, but she can't help it. She's nervous, and hearing last year's baby drama dredged up just adds a whole new level to it.

Santana looks like she wants to say something naturally snarky and mean, but then she looks at Rachel for a second and that look fades a little bit. She's not going to be nice, though, because that would take far too much effort. Instead, she just sighs loudly and pushes herself away from the dresser.

"Who knows, Rachel? Puck is totally bipolar when it comes to girls, but you're one of the few he's actually halfway _decent _to, so count yourself lucky. I don't count with him, okay? Because we're like…" She rolls her eyes. "It's fucked. But I mean, he hasn't cheated on you yet, right? And he likes you or whatever, so… whatever." Another eye roll, and she's finished.

Rachel has no idea what any of that means, but she's willing to take what she can get. Which is apparently at least a _little _reassurance. It's better than what she was fearing at least, which was something along the lines of, _"I'm still fucking him on a regular basis, so yes."_

That's as sentimental as Santana's going to get, though, so she goes back to making fun of Rachel's clothing. She looks down at the outfit she's still wearing and smirks. "This is so fucking hideous." Then she looks back up. "Wanna dress like a normal person?" She doesn't wait for Rachel's response before she bends down and picks her cheerleading uniform up off the floor, shoving it into Rachel's hands. "Put this on."

"Um, no thanks," Rachel says carefully, glancing down at the Cheerios uniform she's now holding. Santana and Brittany _both _roll their eyes, and Brittany actually reaches over and tugs the zipper down on Rachel's dress.

"Put it on," Santana says again, and they're both staring at her in a way that lets Rachel know she has no chance at winning this fight. Rather than arguing a no-win battle, she just does what she's told and slips her dress off before quickly pulling the uniform on. She wants to see how it looks more than she's willing to admit.

Apparently it doesn't look too good because both Brittany and Santana immediately erupt into a fresh round of laughter as they stare at her. Rachel turns toward her mirror anyway and takes a look. It's… awkward. Santana's taller than her, so the cut is wrong, but it's more than that. It just doesn't look right.

"You can't pull it off." Santana seems pleased with this statement, and she leans back against Brittany's knees.

"It's like Halloween," Brittany says with a vague smile. Then she stops suddenly as an idea obviously hits her. "Oh, my god, can I be Kurt?"

A few hours later, after they've ordered take-out and spent some time watching a ridiculous MTV reality show, Santana announces that she's bored and tells Brittany they're leaving. Everyone's been back in their own clothes for awhile, but that doesn't stop Santana going once more to Rachel's closet and pulling out a navy dress.

"If your dads don't murder your boyfriend, wear this tonight," she says, tossing it down on Rachel's bed and glancing in the mirror as she straightens her own skirt. "Trust me."

As fate would have it, Santana's Mustang isn't a block down the road when Rachel's phone starts ringing. She runs back to her room to grab it because she's starting to get worried about the lack of word. She knows that temple's been over for awhile, and she's been trying not to worry about the fact that she hasn't heard from anyone.

"Are you okay?" she asks as soon as she answers. She isn't usually one for answering the phone with unconventional greetings, but she's seriously been worried that somebody's dead or something (dramatic is her nature, don't blame her).

"I think it went okay." He sounds tired and slightly still nervous, but he also sounds a little relieved. "They… listened."

"And?" She hasn't actually realized how nervous she is until this exact moment, but she looks down at the hand in her mouth and realizes that she's chewed her nails halfway down.

"I guess it was alright." He doesn't sound too concerned. "They said they would think about it."

"Think about what? What did you say?"

She hears him sigh, and she wonders if he realizes how uneasy that makes her. "I just told them that…" He sighs again. "I just told them the truth."

She wants to ask him _what _truth he's talking about, but he doesn't give her a chance. His voice kind of stutters a little bit, but he keeps talking.

"I don't think we should sneak around anymore, Rachel."

"But…" She has no idea what she wants to say.

"I just don't feel right asking them to trust me when… when they really shouldn't."

"So what are…" She lets out her own sigh, completely frustrated as she sits down on the edge of her bed and starts chewing on her thumbnail again.

"_Rachel?" _

She jumps when she hears her dad's voice and wonders how it's possible that she didn't even hear the car pull up or hear the door opening. "My dads are home," she says dully, hanging up the phone without saying goodbye. When she lets it fall to the bed beside her, she realizes just how bad she feels.

"_Rachel, are you here?"_

She swallows and stands up, heading downstairs to face the music and listen to whatever her parents have to say. After the brief phone conversation she's just had, she doesn't expect it to be too uplifting.

Her dads are in the kitchen, digging around in the leftover containers from the take-out. There's not a ton left considering the fact that Brittany and Santana both eat like teenage boys and somehow still manage to stay skinny. And not just skinny but sickeningly fit and muscular. She's beginning to suspect that Coach Sylvester provides the Cheerios with some magical steroid that both builds muscle and burns fat. It's probably not an out-of-the-world assumption.

"Did your friends leave?"

She nods, sitting down at the table and preparing herself for the lecture she's about to get. She doesn't know what he said to them, but she has a feeling it probably did more harm than good. She's surprised, though, when both of her parents sit down at the table with her and look _almost _amused.

"I'm impressed, Rachel." Her father pops the lid off a bottle of beer and leans back in his seat a little. "You must really have that boy on a short chain."

"What are you talking about?" She glances down at the table, thinking that maybe if she can play dumb, they'll believe it. All she gets in response, though, are a couple of laughs.

"Honey, we're not dumb. And we've known you since the day you were born. We know your grand schemes when we see them."

She doesn't expect this. It hasn't occurred to her that they would see through the plan and realize that it was all her idea to begin with. Maybe she put too much faith in the acting skills of others- not everyone is as talented as she is. She says nothing. She has a feeling she's about to have her punishment extended for another year or so.

At this point, she doesn't think it even matters.

"Impressive, though." Her dad takes a sip of his beer. "He must really like you if he's willing to go along with your antics."

"I just wanted you to listen to him," she mutters. She can't believe they've failed after all this. She doesn't want to blame him, but she thinks he must be the one at fault because his mother believed _her _just fine. "You won't listen to me."

"We listen to you every time you speak." She recognizes the warning tone, which is always a sign that he doesn't like _her _tone. "But you seem to forget quite often that you're still a child, Rachel. And that means that _we _still get to make the decisions."

"I'm seventeen."

"We know exactly how old you are."

"That's not a _child," _she argues forcefully. "I'm not _stupid."_

"No one said you were stupid."

"You don't trust me!" She hears her voice rising, and she can tell by looking at her parents that they're going to let her have her rant and do the perfectly passive-aggressive thing until she's got it out of her system. "I've never done _anything _to make you think you can't trust me, and then I make _one _mistake, and you want to treat me like I'm still in third grade!"

"I think we have been pretty lenient with you given the circumstances." The warning tone is still there, and even though they're both being eerily calm, she knows she's only a few steps away from talking herself into a lot of trouble. So she cuts the attitude a little bit.

"I just wanted you to see that he's not just what everyone thinks," she says, lowering her voice significantly and looking down at the table. "You don't know him, and you never gave him a chance."

They're both staring at her, giving her the opportunity to go on and plead her case further. She isn't sure if it's a trap, and right now, she doesn't even know what she's feeling. She just feels exhausted by the whole thing and at the end of her rope.

"He makes mistakes," she mumbles quietly. "But he hasn't had the easiest life… And he _tries…"_

She doesn't even know.

It doesn't matter because she gets a response to that. "You're not the first person in the world to fall for the bad boy with the pretty eyes, Rachel."

She frowns and doesn't look up.

"I don't think he's as bad as he'd like to be." She's shocked to hear these words come out of her father's mouth. "If anything, he's probably just mostly a kid with too much energy and not enough places to put it." Rachel has _no _idea that that's supposed to mean, but she doesn't ask questions. "He's got too much responsibility and pressure for somebody that age."

"Look, Rachel." Her attention goes from one parent to the other. "I know you put him up to this whole thing. You probably even wrote him a script-"

"I didn't write a script," she interrupts. "I don't even know what he said."

She can tell they're not entirely convinced. It apparently doesn't matter because her dad goes right on like she didn't even break in. "But I don't think he was lying."

She stares at him. She's too afraid to even say anything.

"He really does care about you."

She _isn't _too afraid to say, "I know." And it's not a lie. She might suffer from some level of self-doubt that she's not yet able to work through, but she doesn't question whether or not he likes her. She knows he does. She can feel it.

"You're right, honey. You're growing up. We _do _trust you."

"We just worry about you. We're your parents, we're allowed to."

Rachel doesn't know what to say. She blinks a few times and then just says the thing at the forefront of her mind. "Can we please just have a chance?"

And she doesn't know whether she's shocked as hell or not at all surprised when two heads nod in response to her question. She's kind of stunned for a second as she stares at them, realizing that even though Phase Two didn't go off as conventionally as planned, it's still turned out successful. They're actually giving her permission to… They're saying it's _okay._

She ends up at the Puckermans' house twenty minutes later. She hugs and kisses her dads about fifty times before running upstairs and instinctively grabbing the dress Santana threw on her bed. Then she hugs her parents a few more times before taking the keys they offer and driving straight to the house that she's missed really badly lately.

The door opens before she finishes her second knock, and Bekah throws both arms around her waist and tugs her into the house without any other sort of greeting. She hasn't seen her in what feels like a really long time, and Rachel's surprised to realize that she honestly misses this little girl. She hugs her back and asks first if her mom's home. Bekah says no, and then she says that her brother's upstairs without having to be asked. Rachel hugs her again because it feels like a really huggy sort of night, and then she hurries upstairs and down to the end of the hallway.

She knocks on his door once and hears a muffled, "Come in," from the other side. He looks up from his history book (Seriously? It's Friday night. She thinks she might be in love.), and she can tell that he's surprised to see her. He's laying on his stomach, but he sits up when she pushes the door open.

"We don't have to sneak around anymore." She can barely keep the giddiness out of her voice, and she definitely can't control it when he smiles a second later and lets her know that he fully understands everything that one sentence is meant to convey.

The history book ends up on the floor.

… … …

A/N: Thanks for reading!


	29. Chapter 29

**ONE SENTENCE**

… … …

She isn't sure what he said to her dads to change their minds.

She's beginning to think that maybe she'll never find out. She doesn't want to ask _him, _and when she asks her parents, they just tell her that if she's meant to hear, she'll hear. So eventually, she just gives up and stops wondering about it. It's not like any of it really matters anyway. It worked, and that's really all that matters.

Over the next month or so, she starts getting _very _comfortable around his house. He doesn't spend quite as much time at hers, but he doesn't totally avoid it or anything. Things just feel easier at his, so that's where they end up the majority of the time. Things go back to the way before the whole jail thing, and they spend nearly every night hanging out with Bekah, and she goes back to babysitting whenever basketball games conflict with his mom's work schedule. It's fun, and she starts really feeling like part of their family. He really treats her like his girlfriend, both at home and at school, and she starts realizing how much she really likes it.

One afternoon after school, they're hanging out with Bekah until their mom gets home. She spends an hour watching the siblings play some video game that's got way too much violence and is just as bad as any R-rated movie. She doesn't think it's at all appropriate for a nine year old, but she doesn't say anything because it wouldn't matter even if she did. She gets bored and goes upstairs to take a nap, and she thinks it speaks volumes that she can just go up to his room and lie down and no one makes a big deal out of it.

She wakes up when he's sitting down beside her and tugging just barely on the ends of her hair. When she opens her eyes, the room is darker than it was before. She can tell it's fully dark outside, and the only light now is the one seeping in from the hallway.

"Hi," he says, smirking when she looks up at him. She's tired and groggy, but she manages to smile a little. "Mom says it's time for dinner."

She glances at his clock and sees that it's nearly eight o'clock. She knows her dads don't worry about where she is because they've gotten to a point where hiding things is no longer on the table. She promised them that from now on, she'll be completely honest, and so far, it seems as if they really believe her. They know where she is and that she's safe. She has a ten o'clock curfew that she never misses, and that helps with the trust-building.

Dinner at the Puckermans' usually includes something frozen or ordered in, which is fine with her because she's been raised on takeout. There are occasional nights when someone cooks, but this is not one of those. There's Italian takeout that includes a good amount of vegan selections, and Rachel feels more than a little comfortable when she sits down with the family and everyone is laughing and joking and playfully arguing. It all feels very normal and almost like a movie.

The rest of the school year starts passing pretty quickly.

She makes good grades, and everyone gets their SAT scores back. She has the highest out of everyone in glee, and that makes her feel more than a little smug. She doesn't even care that her announcement is met with eye rolls because it's not like she's the one who initiated the score-spilling conversation. She's just a little bit too eager to join in… And she's also a little bit too smug when Santana jumps in and tells Tina to stop hating just because she's a "sucky ass Asian" and doesn't have the highest score.

That's a fairly normal occurrence. Santana says things like that a lot, and Rachel starts getting more comfortable with it. It's not like she ever receives compliments or anything, and Santana still spends about eighty percent of her time making fun of her and insulting her, but there's something less than malicious about it. For the first time ever, Rachel sort of feels like she has girlfriends, and it's nice.

That's just one of the many changes in her life. She has a boyfriend, and while that's not a first, it's really the first time that she doesn't feel like she has to _try. _With Jesse, she was constantly trying- trying to be perfect, trying to be talented, trying to be his equal, and trying to beat him. She didn't notice how hard she was trying with Finn until it was over. She never had to compete with Finn because she's always been better than him. That's a given, no questions asked. But she had to try in other ways. She had to try and deserve him because people always looked at them and saw one saint and one demon- she was the demon. He could say little things about how she talked too much or how she was selfish, and it never really registered with her. She just believed it and let all those words to go work on her self-esteem. She needed to be a better person to be with him, and she had to try all the time for perfection that was never really there.

Now, though, she doesn't have to try at all.

Compared to Puck, she might as well be a saint. She's certainly not the demon in that scenario, but it's okay because she doesn't want him to change, either. He doesn't judge her when she does less than becoming things, and he doesn't try to make her into something she's not. If she starts talking too much or gets too annoying, he just tells her. And because she likes him so much and trusts him, she doesn't take it to heart. She just revaluates herself and decides whether he has a point or whether he's just being a dick. He doesn't ever ask her to be nicer or less selfish like Finn always did. He doesn't ever tell her that her notes are slightly flat and that she is missing emotional depth like Jesse always did. He just accepts her, and she likes that more than she's willing to admit. Or really, she'll admit. It's just nice that no one ever asks.

That's another thing she really likes about their setup- there's no pressure. Jesse claimed she broke his hear. Finn claimed he loved her the moment they got together. Puck's not going to claim either of those things anywhere in the near future, and she _likes _that. She's had her fill of supposed 'mature' relationships, and now she just wants to have fun. She likes him a lot, and she knows he likes her. But they don't have to put more to it because they're seventeen, and she knows from experience that words don't really mean all that much.

They go to Regionals, and for once, they bond with the team. They all talk together on the bus, and no one looks at each other with pure hatred. No one makes snide remarks. They just laugh and have a good time, and that's what glee should be. She knows it's short-lived, though, but she takes what she can get.

They don't win.

They lose to Vocal Adrenaline again, and Rachel feels like a little part of her dies. She just wants to win. She hates losing more than anything, and she just wants to be a part of something special. They move up to second place, but it's still a losing spot. There's a lot less socializing and joking on the way home. About halfway back to the school, she feels a hand take hers and hears, "Fuck those assholes. You're gonna be a star someday, and winning a Midwest choir competition is gonna be the highlight of their fucking lives."

It makes her smile. And then she cares a little less about losing.

By the time the school year ends, it occurs to her that this relationship is turning into her longest ever. She's a little shocked by this because of the lack of pressure and labels. She calls him her boyfriend if she talks about him, but she rarely does. He calls her his girlfriend sometimes when he just drops it into conversation. But it's not like they make a big deal out of it. It's just sort of natural and casual, and she likes that.

Her dads are over all the problems from before. He's welcome in her house, and he starts spending time there. She still likes it better at his, though, because she likes the feeling of ease she gets with his mom and sister. She likes seeing a sibling relationship firsthand and sort of getting to be a part of it. It's one of her favorite parts of the setup and something that neither of her other boyfriends had to offer.

One afternoon, just a couple of weeks after school lets out, they're hanging out in his room watching the Game Show Network. Well, _she's _watching. He's trying to make out with her, but she's pretty invested in _The Newlywed Show _because she can't believe some of the things people will actually admit to on national television. She thinks he'd like it a little bit if he paid attention. The whole thing is about sex, and that's pretty much his favorite topic ever. This fact is evidenced by the way he's actively trying to slip his hand under her skirt. She retaliates by placing a hand on his forehead and keeping him away at arm's length.

It works for about five seconds until he remembers that he's a lot stronger than her.

She squeals a little bit when he uses that hand to tug her all the way across to him, and if she didn't love the way he feels right up against her, she might pull away and go back to the TV. It's hard to remember to protest, though, when she can feel the hardness of his chest against her and when he's kissing her like that. He should seriously win awards for his kissing- it's _that _good. But she has enough sense to realize that his mom and sister are right downstairs. And while she sometimes makes exceptions, it's the middle of the day, and she's not going to push her luck. So she makes out with him for a few minutes and then pushes him away and sits up.

"Let's have a picnic," she says brightly.

He stares at her like she's lost her mind, but she just plasters on a smile and pretends like she doesn't notice. It's not like they haven't had a picnic before- they _have… _It just involved Finn. And Bekah. And Bekah can come again, but she's drawing the line at Finn whose bipolar disorder has jerked her around enough. For the last half of the school year, he purposely ignored her, and she finally stopped caring. If he wants to hate her, there's really not a ton she can do. Not that Finn would _ever _agree to go _anywhere _with them ever again. He practically punches the wall every single time he sees them together, and Rachel's not so sure that he wouldn't just punch _Puck _if she weren't there to get in the way.

"We are not having some gay-ass picnic," he says firmly. "This isn't fucking _The Sound of Music _or some shit."

"First of all," she says calmly, "I'm very impressed that you know there's a picnic in _The Sound of Music. _That must mean that you're making a good dent in the required viewing I gave you." She can tell by the look on his face that he has absolutely _not _made any sort of dent in her required viewing. She ignores this. "However, I have told you fifty _thousand _times that those type of phrases offend me."

He rolls his eyes, and she knows he's not being really serious. He's not _trying _to be insensitive, and it's not even like he has any hidden homophobic tendencies. He's actually not that uptight about it all, which might be surprising considering the façade he tries to desperately to keep up. But he's really not, and he isn't purposely trying to offend her or anything like that. He just speaks without thinking, and things like that still slip out even though she asks him to cut it out.

"Fine," he says when he's finished rolling his eyes. "We'll have your stupid picnic."

She tries not to smile too widely, but she secretly loves the fact that he's giving in just so he doesn't have to fight with her or apologize for making offensive remarks about homosexuality.

They (_she) _plan their picnic for the next afternoon, and Rachel feels very much like she did last fall when she spent all morning packing a picnic lunch and baking cookies. The only difference now is that she's no longer suffering from crippling self-disgust and guilt. Now she can just enjoy life and not have to worry about who or what might slip and expose all her secrets. She doesn't _have _secrets anymore, and she's really glad for it.

They take Bekah to the park, and Rachel actually spreads out a blanket and starts unloading her basket. It's very picturesque, and even though she can tell Puck's embarrassed beyond belief to be seen picnicking in the park, she sort of adores the fact that he's there at all. She's glad, though, that no one they know is around. She's not sure how long she could keep him here if they were met with unexpected visitors. Luckily, most people their age spend their summers at the pool or the mall, so the park isn't a huge gathering spot for teenagers.

Bekah keeps them both occupied, spilling some story that she overheard her mom on the phone talking about. It's about some cousin that Rachel doesn't know- apparently she's cheating on her husband and pregnant with a baby that may or may not be his. They both seem really interested in it, though, so she assumes it must be really scandalous. She's sort of impressed that Bekah's good enough at eavesdropping that she was able to get the entire story and then didn't hesitate to spill it.

Rachel's less amused by the younger girl when they actually start eating.

Bekah takes one bite of her sandwich and then makes a terrible face. "This tastes like shit," she says bluntly, and Rachel stares at her incredulously, honestly shocked. And instead of scolding his little sister for being incredibly rude, Puck actually snorts with choked laughter. Rachel glares at him and then turns her attention back to his sister.

"Thank you, Rebekah," she says haughtily. "That's a very nice thing to say."

"Well, it's _gross," _Bekah argues, literally picking food out of her mouth. "Why is there _hair _in it?"

"Those are _sprouts!"_

"This is gross."

"It's _healthy," _Rachel corrects. "Actually _good _for you."

"It tastes like a bird pooped it out and you put it on bread." Bekah looks at her food warily. "Actually, this isn't even real bread."

"It's _pita." _

"Rachel, this is not good." Bekah sets the sandwich down and instead reaches for a bag of bagel chips.

"Well, next time you can make lunch!"

But Bekah just shakes her head. "That doesn't make you a very good babysitter…"

"Why are you being mean to me? I'm the one who always takes up for you."

And Bekah smiles sweetly. "I know. That's why I love you best."

They're totally joking by now, and Rachel moves off of her knees to place a hand on Puck's thigh. "You might hurt your brother's feelings."

But he shakes his head and steals the bag of chips from Bekah. It does not go unnoticed that his own sandwich is completely untouched. Rachel decides she'll just have to try harder to get them to eat something that's not processed or fried.

"I don't care if you she likes you best. So do I." He winks at her, and even though he's totally just trying to butter her up, Rachel can't help smiling at him.

Bekah, though, reaches across the picnic basket and punches his shoulder. "That's _rude."_

"Hey!" he says, turning his eyes sharply on her. "Rachel doesn't like violence. Stop being insensitive."

The whole thing is so ridiculous that they all end up laughing and rolling their eyes.

They spend the rest of the afternoon eating dessert (Rachel baked them real chocolate chip cookies, not the vegan kind) and playing on the playground. It's fun, and she always has a good time watching those two fall back and forth between fighting and loving each other. She quickly finds herself being propositioned, though, when Bekah spots one of her friends from school and runs off to talk to her. It's not that she really _minds _making out under a slide, but they are in public. And said public happens to be a park where not only adults, but also an abundance of _children, _are present. So that's why she ducks away and shakes her head.

"There are too many people around."

"So let's leave." He makes it sound so simple and easy. Sometimes she envies that about him.

"Bekah's playing."

"Bekah's ten years old. She needs to get over it."

Rachel rolls her eyes and ignores the tingle she feels when he slides a hand up her arm and tugs her close.

"Let's go," he says lowly. "It's hot, and I have keys to all the best pools in town."

She hopes he's joking, but she can tell that he's totally serious and that sneaking into other people's pools is a perfectly normal activity for him. She should lecture him, but it's too much trouble.

"We're supposed to be babysitting."

"I bet you Bek can get an invitation to that kid's house if she tries hard enough."

"Noah!"

He ignores her and instead bends down and actually _licks _her lips. She likes it, so she forgets to be mortified for a second, but she remembers pretty quickly, pulling away and smacking at his arm.

"Don't blame me," he says, shaking his head. "It's fucking hot out here. And you're really hot. And I just want to go swimming, is that a crime?"

She knows good and well that even if she allowed him to talk her into breaking and entering (and she _won't- _half a night in jail is enough to last her a lifetime), there wouldn't be much swimming at all. He is trying to seduce her in the middle of the playground. She really can't imagine he'd be up for just an innocent dip in the water.

Still…

"My nana has a pool," she says quietly, doing her very best to appear as completely innocent as possible. "She has her baking club all day tomorrow…"

He isn't dumb by any means, and even if she's playing coy and oblivious, he knows that she knows exactly what she's offering. And she knows that he knows it's the best offer he's going to get.

"Mom's off tomorrow, so I don't have to babysit."

She smiles and kisses him quickly. "That's great! We can go swimming then."

He nods and smirks. "Right."

Later that night, they're watching a movie in his room. He's feeling her up, and she's putting up no resistance. There's no point now. It doesn't matter that his mom and sister are home because it's pretty late and it's dark outside, so it's not quite as whorey in her mind. Besides, the movie's pretty boring, and she likes what his hands are doing much better than whatever's on the television. She even takes the initiative and starts kissing him, and he definitely doesn't mind. She's a little upset when his hands move back to more appropriate places on top of her clothes, but then she's happy again when she realizes he's just using them to pull her over to lay on top of him. And then one's on her butt, and the other is twisting through the side of her hair, and she thinks maybe she likes him more than is safe.

He kisses right under her ear because he knows that's her favorite spot, but then he stops and pulls back a little to look up at her.

"Hey, guess what tomorrow is?"

"Um, Saturday?"

"It's June 18th."

She thinks, trying to figure out if that's a special date. She can't come up with anything, so she just raises her eyebrows.

"It's your half-birthday!"

"My what?"

"Your _half-birthday." _He rolls his eyes, but then he smiles at her. That smile should be illegal. "We should celebrate."

She's positive that he's equating celebrating with sex because that's what he always does. She starts to call him on just looking for an excuse to get her naked, but he keeps going.

"So tomorrow, we'll go swimming, then I'm going to take you out on a date."

She's about ninety-nine percent positive that this is still about sex, but he looks so cute that she can't help mirroring his smile. "Really?"

He nods and leans up to kiss her really slowly. She misses him the second he pulls away.

"It'll be awesome. And I owe you because I kinda fucked up your real birthday…"

Her birthday seems like a million years ago, and not just the best six months of her life ago. She just smiles down at him, wondering how it's really possible that they even got here and especially how it's possible that she likes so much about him.

"I wrote a new song," he tells her, leaning up on his elbows a little bit. "Wanna hear it?"

But for the first time in her life, music doesn't seem like the most important thing. She pushes all of her weight against his chest until he has no choice but to lie back down.

"I'll hear it later," she says quietly right before she leans all the way down and kisses him just the way he deserves to be kissed.

And she thinks the fact that she's passing on music says everything. That one sentence is enough to prove to her, and hopefully to him, that there's something else on the top of her list.

And she doesn't really remember ever being happier.

… … …

The End

… … …

A/N: So that's that! A nice, sappy ending to please the teenage girl in all of us. I'm so glad you guys read and enjoyed the story. I've had a blast writing it, and thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed!


End file.
